


His to Hold (Part Three)

by Mirtai



Series: His To Hold [3]
Category: Smallville
Genre: AU, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 51,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirtai/pseuds/Mirtai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Mysteries are Revealed, and Matters Resolved to the Satisfaction of All Save the Undeserving</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Bad News Is Received

**Author's Note:**

> This is the final section of my (loosely) Smallville-based Regency AU. It will make very little sense if you have not read the first two parts.

Sir William smiled as he sifted through the morning’s correspondence, brought to him  just as he sat down to breakfast. There was yet another letter for young Clark. He was always rather astonished at how many letters the lad received, and, indeed, wrote in return. He was sure he had never exchanged half so much correspondence at the same age. It was supposed to be female thing, letter-writing; certainly both his late wife and his dear Emily indulged in it lavishly. Not that he himself did not enjoy a good letter, but not with anything like the frequency his wife or his sons’ tutor appeared to. 

The door to the breakfast room opened to admit Lady Emily and Clark, the lady of the house laughing at something the young man had just told her. 

“Good morning, my dear,” the squire said fondly to his wife, who kissed his cheek  amiably before taking her place. 

“Good morning, Sir William,” Clark said, smiling. 

“Morning, Kent. What’s this I hear about you and the boys being up at the crack of dawn today?” 

Clark grinned. “A little earlier than that, sir, as a matter of fact, but one has to make  some sacrifices to do some star-gazing. I got them back to bed soon  enough, and don’t plan on rousing them before they can sleep it off.” 

Sir William was not unduly worried. It was true that they occasionally kept outlandish hours for this or that exercise, but Clark never exaggerated, and the boys loved it. He just  laughed, and held out the letter. “More letters for you. Y’know, I foresee your future, my lad,” he said jovially. “You’re going to become the private secretary of somebody highly illustrious, and after a long and distinguished period of service, you’re  going to publish memoirs the like of  which have never been seen before. Lord knows, you do enough correspondence for it!” 

Clark chuckled a little wickedly. “Why, I might become a novelist, sir, and exploit all my  reminiscences for material. Have you  ever considered that?” 

Lady Emily gave a gurgle of laughter. “Don’t you dare! The boys would never live it down!” 

Clark served Lady Emily from the buffet first, as he usually did if he came in before, or with her, and then himself, before sitting down and opening his mail, and at first, Sir William noticed nothing amiss. Shortly after, however, he noticed his wife staring at Clark with a  concerned expression, and looked across to see the young man gazing fixedly at the sheet he held in his hand, his complexion ashen white.

“Kent?” When that got no response, he tried again. “Clark?” 

It was as if all colour had bleached from that bright face. Even the vivid blue eyes  seemed blanched. “Sir...” His voice was almost a whisper. 

“Is it your parents?” Sir William asked anxiously. 

Clark took a moment or two to register the question. “N-no, sir. Not my parents.” He pulled himself together somewhat. “Nor my grandfather, Sir William, you may rest easy on that point.” 

“But?” 

“A friend –  a very dear  friend...” Clark faltered. “He’s  very ill...  I’m sorry, but....” 

Sir William had never been one for procrastination. “Go pack a travel bag, lad. You can  take one of the horses;  I know I’ll get it back from you safe and sound as soon as you can.” 

“I can’t just abandon the boys....” His tone was tormented. 

“It’s nearly the holidays, anyway. If you need your kit sent on, just let me know, and I’ll see to it.” 

Clark looked profoundly grateful, and left the table without further commentary. 

An hour or so later, he came to Sir William in the study, still very pale, but clearly resolved. 

“Sir William?” 

“All packed, lad?” 

“Yes, sir. I cannot thank you enough for your forbearance. Moreover –  I have to say this. I do not know if I will be able  to return. I’ve been told that my friend is dying. I have  known for some time that he was ill, but no one has been able to say of what. You may think me foolish, but if I can prevent this, I will; only I do not know how long it may take. All I know is that I must stay by his side either until he is dead, or until he is well, whichever card fate chooses to deal. I very much regret abandoning you in this manner, but if I must, the least I can  do is offer you a suggestion for a replacement for me.” He  held out a card to Sir William. 

“His name is John Jones. He is a friend of mine from Oxford –  one of my numerous  correspondents,”  he added, with a brief flicker of humour. “I know from recent letters that he  is unhappy in his present employment. I also know that he would make a marvellous tutor. Of course, the ultimate decision is always yours, but, if you will permit an honest opinion, you would not regret taking him on, any more than you regretted taking me on, though our ways are quite different.  I have spoken to the boys, they know that I’m leaving,” he added sadly.

Sir William took the card. “If you say this man can fill your shoes here, Clark, I’m pre pared to believe you. I regret you feel you might not be able to return, but please know these doors will always be open to you, no matter the circumstances. Now, I will write to my man of business to have your last remuneration made over to you as promptly as possible, but we are coming upon the holiday period, which will only delay things, so I want you to have this for your immediate  needs.” 

He pressed a five-pound  note into Clark’s hand. Clark looked up, shocked. 

“No, Sir William, that’s a full quarter...” 

“D’you think I grudge you a little extra! I know what you’re like about money,  lad, you  barely spend any as it is, and I’ve given you your well-deserved  bonuses in kind up to now. This  time, you need hard currency. I don’t like to make a mercenary deal of it, but you’ve been worth your weight in gold to my boys. They’ve learnt more  from you in the last year and a bit  than in their previous three years’ of schooling, and I’m very sorry to lose you, but I respect your need to be with your friend. You’re a good and loyal man, Clark Kent, and it’s a pity there aren’t more of your kind  around. Now, be on your way, with my blessings, and Godspeed. I expect  to be added to your long list of correspondents!” 

Clark nodded, too overcome by Sir William’s generosity to speak. When the elderly  squire offered his hand, Clark shook it earnestly, and left the study. 


	2. In Which There Is A Visit to A Sickbed And A Nursery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark flies to Lex's side, and makes a startling discovery

He could have run. He could even have flown. He could have been at Rutherford Park that same day, but he did not know how to disguise so rapid a movement, and realised that such an early arrival would only invite more questions than he knew how to answer. Every moment spent on the back of a horse seemed like wasted time to Clark, but he had accepted a long time ago that there were things he needed to tolerate in order to appear normal. Still, he took Sir William’s  horse as far as it could go, saw to it that it was properly stabled and would be  returned to Sir William, and then took off, at nightfall, for Rutherford Park. 

He stopped thirty miles short of the Park, brushed himself off carefully, and waited for the staging coach to arrive from Coventry at the inn, so that he could mingle with the morning crowd, and bespeak a fresh horse to finish the journey to the Park. He would just have to hope that Chloe believed that rapid delivery of mail was sometimes possible. 

The net result of his manoeuvres was that he arrived at the Park a little after four that afternoon. If the circumstances  had not been so critical, the look on Mitchell’s face when he  opened the door to Clark would have been gratifyingly funny. 

“Mr. Kent!” 

“I was given to understand you’d be expecting me,” he said mildly, a little wearily. 

“Oh, yes, sir, but you’ve made better time than we’d hoped,” he said, unusually forthright. “Mrs. Dunleavy’s is the Stone Gallery, but I’m afraid Mr. Dunleavy’s in London at the moment. We don’t expect him back  before  the end of the week.” 

It took Clark a moment to understand the implications of that statement. “Oh, hell! Look, could someone see if I can be put up in Tannisford? Obviously, I can’t stay  here, not until  Mr. Dunleavy gets back.” 

“Yes, of course, sir. I’m sure we can arrange something suitable for you.” 

“Thank you. Don’t worry too much about it being suitable. I just need a place to sleep, that’s all. I’ll be spending most of my time here. Mitchell, is it as bad as Mrs. Dunleavy said?” 

The look on the  man’s face spoke volumes. “I think he’ll be glad you’re here, sir, even if – if he’s in no condition to show it.” 

“Thank you, Mitchell. I’d like to see Mrs. Dunleavy, if you please.”

“Of course, sir. Would you care for a little refreshment?”

“Some tea and something to eat would be appreciated, thank you.” 

At this time of the afternoon, and at this time of the year, the Stone Gallery made the most of the pale winter sun, which was why the window bays held long seats. They were, like the rest of the place, of stone, but a pile of thick cushions and a few woollen throws could make them a reasonably comfortable resting place for a little while. Chloe reclined there, reading a magazine, a workbox with a pair of protruding needles indicating knitting laid aside for the time being. Clark cleared his throat conspicuously while he was still several feet away, not wanting to startle the young woman unduly. She looked up sharply, and then was sitting up, and  struggling to get to her feet, her face alight with a kind of shocked pleasure.

“Clark! Oh, God, Clark, you’re here!” 

She had informed him she was expecting, but he was still a little startled to see how heavily burdened she was. He had not thought her to be that far along, and he hastened his pace to stand beside her, and put a hand on her shoulder to urge her to keep her seat. 

“No, don’t get up for me, Chloe. Lord, I hadn’t realised....” 

She shot him a faintly revolted  look. “No, I know. Beached whales have nothing on me,” she grumbled. “Huge, isn’t it?” 

“You must be imminent.” 

“I only wish! February, Clark. Another month, at least.” 

He blinked. “Well, it’s – an optical illusion. You’re so small-boned,”  he tried for a modicum  of tact. Then he had another thought. “Or else it’s twins.” 

“It had better be. The idea that  one  child can put you through this much inconvenience  is intolerable. Double trouble is somehow, perversely, more acceptable,” she commented  tartly. 

Clark grinned fleetingly. That was the kind of dry humour he expected from Chloe. 

“I cannot believe you’ve made such good time,” she went on, her tone marvelling. “I take it Sir William made no difficulties about your leaving?” 

“None  at all. Yes, your letter reached me very promptly and I  – well, I haven’t really stopped travelling since.” 

“Lord, you must be famished! I’ll get....” 

“It’s all right, I’ve already spoken to Mitchell, and he’s organising something.” He sat on the bench beside her. “Chloe, what’s happened here? I know you told me he was ill, but – dying?”

She rubbed her brow wearily. “I don’t know where to start.” 

“May I see him?” 

“I’ll take you up to him when you’ve had something to eat. You’ll need it, Clark,  he is  very much altered,” she said sadly. 

“Tell me what has been happening.” 

“It’s hard to know where it all began. Natalia began to show some signs of this perva sive languor a few months after they returned to this country. Then Alexandra was conceived, and we were afraid for a little while, but on the contrary, she improved during the pregnancy, and there was no difficulty with the birth, and for a short while after that, there was no trouble. Then it started again, and this time, Lex seemed to be affected as well, though to a lesser extent. I thought that it was his concern for her that was pulling him down in this way, but it was impossible to tell. Natalia conceived again, and again, her health improved, though not as much as the first time,  and Linford’s birth was more difficult. Lex, too, improved, very noticeably, and we thought all was well, at least with him.” 

The sound of steps on the stone flagging made her pause, and she waited while Mitchell and a footman brought a folding table and a tray to them, and set it out before them. There was a silver teapot from which the fragrant scent of Bohea tea issued, a dish of lemon slices, a stand with an assortment of savouries and biscuits, and two fine porcelain tea settings. Mitchell arranged things so that Chloe could reach everything easily, without having to move too much, and she waited until they were gone before continuing, in the meantime pouring out cups for herself and Clark. 

“It did not last,” she went on. “She went downhill  so rapidly after that, as if all the energy had been drained from her. Lex was by her side constantly, and what little strength she had, she was drawing it from him, for he, too, grew progressively weaker. When she died, he was not well enough to attend her funeral, and there have been physical changes with him, other than the general debilitation, that she did not suffer. Now he barely rouses to eat or drink, and spends the days in a vague fever dream, little more than half conscious at the best of times  –  and  that man,”  her voice was suddenly thick with loathing, “hovers here like the spectre at the feast.” 

“Who?” Clark queried, startled.  


“Lanchester. He turns up two or three times every week. Oh, on the surface, he is all  concern for his son, but  – don’t ask me, Clark. Even Lucas says I’m being a little irrational, and blames it on my ‘delicate condition’,” she said, with a most unladylike snort, “but I swear he’s waiting for Lex to die. Lord, I hate that man so much!”

Clark found it difficult to believe this theory. Chloe was a fiery creature at the best of times, and Clark had always heard that women grew very emotional when they were expecting. 

Chloe was watching him, with a faintly ironic expression. “I’d forgotten how open your  face  is. One can read every thought on it. You think I’m being over-excitable, just like Lucas.” 

“Perhaps,” Clark acknowledged reluctantly. “I find it hard to believe Lanchester c ould view  his son’s death with  composure, let alone pleasure. What of Lex’s  children?” 

“Oh, they’re both perfectly healthy, thank God. The baby will be a year old at the end of January. Alexandra will be three in July.” 

Clark had a sad thought. “Poor little things. They can’t have seen much of their parents.” 

“No. Of course, Linford’s too young to have really noticed, as yet, but Alexandra misses  her Papa. Lex adored  – ” she corrected herself promptly, “adores her.” 

“And will again,” Clark said firmly. “He’s not going to die, not if I have any say in the  matter.”  He stood. “I’m going up to see him. No, you don’t need to come with me. I don’t imagine you find those stairs too easy these days.” 

“Clark Kent, I get enough of this from Lucas. I am  not  a frail female.” 

He shot her a wicked smile. “No, you’re a beached whale.” 

She gave him an astounded look, and then seized a cushion and thumped him with it  solidly. “Now I know why I’m glad I never had any brothers!” 

“I’m sorry to hear you say that. Knowing you makes me wish I’d had sisters,” he  laughed.  “Seriously, Chloe, you’re not going to tell me you tackle both the central stairs and the tower stairs with any degree of equanimity at the moment.” 

She sighed. “Well, no, but that doesn’t stop me from visiting Lex, let me tell you!” 

“I never doubted it for a moment. However, there’s no need for you to make an extra trip. It’s not as if I don’t know the way.” 

“It’s just that I feel you might need someone there when you see him. He is  very al tered, Clark.”

“He’s been very ill for months. I understand that.” 

“It’s a little more than that. I don’t –  Clark, just what  were  your feelings for Lex, back  then?” she asked quietly. 

He looked down at her for a long moment, his expression grave. “I loved him more than I knew was possible. I just didn’t  realise it fully at the time. I was too young to see it. I still love him. No one has ever come close to him in my estimation.  That’s why I say he’s not going to  die if I can help it, Chloe. I love Lex, I want him back, and if I have to fight off Death itself to  keep him, I will!” 

“May your prayers be heard,” she said softly. “Go. I’ll see you later.” 

She held out her hand; he took it, but kissed her cheek swiftly. “I hope Dunleavy knows how lucky he is to have you.” 

He made his way up to the master suite, and met Raffaele on the upper landing. The Corsican valet was surprised and delighted to see him;  he almost fell on Clark’s neck, but refrained at the last moment, and instead shook Clark’s proffered hand heartily. 

“Mr. Kent! Ah, it is  good to see you again! Oh, but you will find my poor master in a sad  condition...!” 

“So I understand. I’m here to see him. May I?” 

“He sleeps –  but then he sleeps almost all the time now, and sometimes I am afraid he  will not wake.” 

Raffaele preceded him to the north bedroom, and opened the door for him, stepping out of the way to let him enter. 

Clark had barely taken three steps into the room when a wave of nausea hit him. He tried to fight it off, he could sense no reason for it, but his next two steps brought him to his knees, and Raffaele to his side, startled and concerned. 

“Mr. Kent!” 

Clark could barely speak. The very blood coursing in his veins felt like acid. It was as if his skin was crisping and sloughing from him. He held out a hand to the valet, struggling partially to his feet, and saw the veins in it bloated and throbbing. At that moment, an old, old memory resurfaced, and he looked up and around, incredulous. That was when he saw it. On the dresser was a stand, and on the stand, something gold and green caught his eye, the green  pulsing with a strange, faint light. He gasped, and tried to reach out and point, but another wave of nausea overwhelmed him, and he fell to his knees once more.

“Mr. Kent! What is wrong?” the  valet asked, panic-stricken. 

“G-get me out,” Clark gasped out eventually. 

He felt Raffaele tug at him, trying to raise him to his feet, then simply to drag him. 

“I cannot,” the servant gasped. “I will call for help.” 

“N-no!  J-just  you.” Clark fought  to concentrate, and gradually crawled out of the room  again, with the help of the valet. “C-close the door,” he panted, as he lay on the landing. 

Raffaele did so, then knelt by him, completely nonplussed by Clark’s reaction. “What  can I do for you,  Mr. Kent?” 

The door closed, the emanations Clark had sensed were cut off, and he was quickly returning to his normal state, though the shadow of nausea lingered yet. The valet was clearly desperate to help, though, and Clark thought it advisable to let him do so, insofar as possible. 

“A glass of water?” he asked hoarsely.  


Raffaele hesitated. “I need to – to go back in there to get it.”  


“I’ll be all right now. Just keep the door closed while you’re in there.” 

The Corsican nodded, and darted off. Clark had felt nothing more when the door to  Lex’s bedroom opened briefly, but accepted the water gratefully, and sat up, sipping at it  slowly, to settle his stomach. Raffaele still knelt by his side, watching him with concerned, dark eyes. 

After a  while, Clark’s thoughts had cleared, and he knew what to say. 

“Raffaele, what is that green and gold ornament on the dresser?” 

“Madame’s wedding jewels, sir. They are very special, made for her mother, and she  wore them on her wedding day, and again when she was presented at court, when they re turned to London.” 

“Her wedding jewels? I don’t understand.”  


Raffaele hesitated a moment, before asking, “Are you feeling better? I can show you.” 

“No! I can’t go in there just now.” 

He nodded. “There  is a painting in the dining room, of Madame in her wedding dress.  You would understand then.” 

Clark finished the water, and then got to his feet. “I’m fine now. Show me.” 

Raffaele led him back down to the dining room. Clark remembered it now; when it had just been he and Lex in residence, they had never used it, but during the week of the house party, this was where they had lunched and dined. However, the portrait to the right of the fireplace had been replaced. 

Clark could not remember what it had been before, but he knew if he had ever seen this one, he would have remembered it. It was of a young woman, against a background of a classical colonnade fading into the distance. She wore a sumptuous gown of green-bronze silk, with a gold lace over-dress. She was very lovely, Clark saw, with an odd pang, pure features in a magnolia-white complexion, and shining, jet-black hair. However, the most extraordinary feature of the portrait was the jewellery the young woman was wearing. Her head was crowned with an arch of gold, studded with green stones. Around her throat was a heavy necklace, similarly of gold, inset with the green stones, and around both wrists were broad cuffs to match the necklace. 

“That’s what’s sitting on the dresser in the master bedroom?” Clark asked the valet. 

Raffaele nodded. “The headdress and necklace. There is a bust, a female head, designed to hold them. The bracelets are in the vault.” 

Clark turned to him, his expression very serious. “Raffaele, I cannot explain  how I know, but I am very much in earnest when I tell you that you must remove these gems from his lordship’s  room immediately. You can put them in the vault with the bracelets. That’s the  room below the kitchens, right, with the lead-lined  door?” 

Raffaele nodded again. 

“That will do admirably. There is one other thing you can do for me, if you will. Find a  small container, lead-lined  –  the kitchen might have something suitable  –  and prise one stone, just one, from its setting. Then let me have the box with the stone in it. Those green stones are not emeralds. If I am right, they are something very dangerous, and they are the cause of your  master’s illness, and perhaps also of her ladyship’s death.” 

Raffaele cocked his head, his expression  curious. “That is what made you feel faint, upstairs?” 

“I believe so. I don’t understand everything myself, but I may be able to get some  answers  from a friend of mine.”

Raffaele frowned. “I do not know the master would like this to be known abroad.” 

“My friend will be discreet if I ask it of him, and you know I want only what’s best for your master.” 

“Madame brought her nurse with her from Saint Petersburg,” Raffaele said slowly. “Margarethe has always said those jewels were cursed.” 

“Really? May I speak with Margarethe?”  


“She speaks little English, sir.”  


“How did they converse?”  


“Margarethe is German, but Madame always spoke French to her.” 

“I can speak French. Where can I find this woman?” 

“She will be in the nursery with the little ones.” 

“Introduce me to her, and then, please, remove those jewels from the room, and put  them in the vault. I would like it if you got me that sample for analysis, but if you feel you cannot,  I will talk to Mr. Dunleavy. I take it he’s in charge here at the moment?” 

“We have been accepting his orders, yes. However, it will not be necessary for you to wait to speak with him, sir, I will do as you ask.” 

“Thank you –  and, Raffaele, I would be grateful if you did not talk of my own reaction upstairs to anyone. It is not something I wish generally known. You have my word that I will  inform his lordship personally, at the earliest opportunity.” 

“As you wish, sir.” 

Raffaele led him to a room at the other end of the upper gallery, and knocked crisply, before entering, Clark following him in. The room was spacious and airy, bright with natural light, though by now, the winter evening was closing in rapidly, and the candles had been lit. A woman of middle years, stolidly respectable in her black taffeta dress, sat by the fire, sewing peacefully. By her chair was a cradle, which she kept rocking very gently with little movements of her foot from time to time. Across the room, a little girl played happily with a large toy dog mounted on wheels. 

“ _Madame_ _ Marguerite, voici M. Kent. C’est un grand ami de Monsieur. Il voudrait vous  demander  _ _quelque chose_ ,”  Raffaele introduced Clark without preamble (1).

She looked up, smiling amiably, but then her eyes widened dramatically, and her stitch ery fell from her hands as she pressed them to her mouth to stifle the little shriek she uttered.

“ _Herr_ _im Himmel!_ ”  she breathed (2). 

Clark, no less startled by her reaction, came forward a little cautiously. “ _Pardonnez-moi,_ _Madame, je ne voulais pas vous effrayer._ ” 

She recovered her composure somewhat, and came to her feet.  “ _Non, non, ce – ce n’est_ _rien. C’est que – c’est que Monsieur pourrait être le jumeau de feue Madame. J’ai – j’ai été_ _surprise, excusez-moi._ ” (3)

Clark looked at Raffaele. “Do I really look that much like her?” he asked quietly. 

Raffaele nodded. “Very much, sir, save for the eyes. You did not see it from the portrait?” 

“I suppose I don’t really think much about my own features.” 

“It is very striking.” 

Clark did not know how to react  to that; there was an odd little twinkle in the valet’s  dark eyes that disconcerted him. He turned to the governess once more, and found that the little girl was at her side now and looking up at him with a curious stare. 

“ _Qui_ _est ce monsieur, Greta?_ ” the child asked in a clear, precise tone. (4)

Margarethe put out a hand to soothe her hair gently.   “ _Monsieur_ _est un ami de Monsieur votre père._ " (5)

The little girl came forward to pay Clark some closer attention. Clark returned her interest with a faintly wondering smile. She was probably the prettiest child he had ever seen. Abundant, glossy, dark auburn hair waved slightly about a pale, pure, small, oval face. Her eyes had just a hint of an exotic tilt to them, and he saw with a slight shock that they were almost  exactly the same colour as his own, a changeable blue-green. Her lashes were long and thick, and her brows an elegant, dark wing against her white forehead. Abruptly, she decided she wanted to become better acquainted, and held up her arms with an imperious little air. He laughed, and picked her up easily. She was obviously not accustomed to being handled with such effortless strength, for her small arms came around his neck hastily, almost convulsively. However, she quickly regained her poise, and considered him frankly and curiously.

“ _Bonsoir, petite princesse,_ ” Clark said to her. “ _Comment t’appelles-tu_?”  


“ _Je_ _m’appelle Alexandra Liliane Luthor. Et vous, monsieur, comment vous appelez-_ _vous?_ ”

“ _Je_ _m’appelle Clark Kent. Je suis un vieil ami de ton papa, mais je ne l’ai pas vu depuis_ _longtemps._ ”

Her expression turned very grave.  “ _Papa_ _est très malade_.” 

“ _Oui,_ _je sais. Je suis venu voir si je peux l’aider. Je voudrais parler à Madame Marguerite, si tu le permets?_ ” 

“ _Greta_ _peut aider à guérir Papa?_ ”  She was clearly surprised at the notion that her governess could be of any practical assistance in helping cure her father. 

“ _Peut-être._ _Je ne promets rien, princesse, mais il faut essayer, n’est-ce_ _pas?_ ”  


“ _Oui._ _Vous pouvez lui_ _parler,_ ”  she said firmly, and gave a little wriggle indicating that  she wished to be put down again. He set her on her feet, and she ran away to her toy dog. (6)

“ _Vous_ _l’avez bien nommée, monsieur, la petite princesse,_ ”  Margarethe commented, a  little amused, and more at ease now. 

“ _Elle_ _parle très bien pour son age_.” 

“ _Mademoiselle_ _est très avancée; elle commence même à lire_ ,”  the governess said proudly. “ _Monsieur_ _le marquis a toujours insisté pour qu’on la laisse apprendre autant qu’elle_ _veut, et elle a soif de connaissances._ ” 

“Exactement  comme lui, autrement dit,”  he remarked, with a faint smile.  " _Madame Marguerite, je voulais vous parler de ces bijoux que porte Madame dans le portrait de la salle à manger. Les bijoux que Monsieur garde dans sa chambre jour et nuit. Raffaele me dit que vous ne les avez jamais aimés....”_ (7)

It took a little coaxing to get her to talk freely. It was clear that her fears had been dismissed or ridiculed so frequently that she was wary of mentioning them now. Clark was at his most earnest, however, and she eventually unbent. She told what sounded, admittedly, like a rather fantastic tale, but she could not know that in Clark she had an audience possessed of certain specific and highly relevant knowledge. 

Nearly twenty-five years earlier, there had been a spectacular firestorm in Ossetia, on the southern slopes of the Caucasus mountain range, with stars reported falling from the night  sky. This was rich forestland, and Prince Lugansky, Lex’s father-in-law,  held considerable interests there. The local managers had sent back information on the damage, which had been substantial, but amongst those accounts was mention of a strange stone that had appeared in the area, a green gem that was very widely scattered. Many of the local peasants had picked up a piece or two as a keepsake, and the nomadic gypsies had also been seen to pocket a few pieces here and there. A sample was sent to the prince, with a request for instructions; should they let these stones be picked up by anyone interested, or were they valuable and should they be collected? 

Prince Lugansky commissioned a survey from a geologist, who concluded that the stone had no particular value and no singular properties that he could discern, but that it could serve as an ornament if the prince was so inclined. Prince Lugansky had no particular interest in that, but his wife, seeing the stone sample, had taken a fancy to it. To please her, the prince ordered that a certain amount be collected and returned to Saint Petersburg, but that the rest could be left to lie. He had the portion he collected cut into gemstones, and mounted into the settings Clark had seen in the portrait. The princess was delighted with them, and wore them on every possible occasion, and it was widely accepted that the stones were a form of emerald. 

Margarethe had been a very young woman then, brought into the household to second the senior nurse. There were five children, with Natalia on the way, and the official nurse, who had been the  princess’ nurse in her turn, was getting on in years for so heavy a burden. Being  clever and ambitious, Margarethe studied assiduously everything she could, and began also to assist the governess to the older children, seeing that she might have a chance to improve her  situation in later years. The princess was an affectionate mother, liking to spend time with her children, so Margarethe got to see a great deal of her. She saw when the fading sickness first began to take hold of her mistress, and watched, distressed, as the princess grew weaker and weaker. She also noticed, when the family moved to its summer quarters, and the simpler lifestyle  that usually entailed, that the princess’ condition seemed to improve.

Prince Lugansky considered moving out of the city altogether, and made the attempt, but this time there was not the hoped-for improvement, and Margarethe suddenly added two and two together. The princess loved her emerald diadem so much that she had had the special stand made for it, and kept it always in her bedroom. When she left Saint Petersburg for the summer, such elaborate jewellery did not have its place in her summer residence, and was left in Saint Petersburg in the vault. However, when the household actually moved outright to Kuskovo, near Moscow, everything came with them, including the headdress and necklace on its stand. Margarethe had always heard that emeralds brought misfortune; she was now convinced that they were killing her mistress, draining the life from her, slowly but surely. 

The princess died when Natalia was six. Her old nurse retired, and Margarethe received the promotion to senior nurse, as well as taking over governessing duties for the smaller children. The prince, sorely grieved by the loss of his wife, locked away the fatal gems, not wishing to have that reminder present at all times, and life resumed its normal course, until Lex had come to stay, and met the nineteen-year-old Princess Natalia. When his suit was accepted, Prince Lugansky had given the jewellery set to Natalia to wear at her wedding, and then keep, for she was the daughter who most resembled her mother. However, the newly-weds had gone travelling, extensively, for several months, leaving such bulky items as the  kokoshnik  at home. When they returned, a little before Christmas of that year, Natalia had become pregnant, and Lex had started making preparations to return to England. Natalia had turned to Margarethe for support and guidance, and Margarethe had been able to ensure that the green gems remained mainly in storage. 

After Alexandra’s birth, however, Natalia had wanted that reminder of her mother, and  had insisted on installing the stand in her bedroom. Margarethe had watched, sick at heart, as  Natalia’s innate vitality began to wane,  and then as Lex, too, began to be affected. She had tried to tell them, but to no avail, and it was only when Natalia became pregnant again that Margarethe managed to assert herself once more and have the gems removed from the bedroom. Once again, there was an improvement. Linford was born, not without difficulty, but hale and hearty, and Lex had picked up quite considerably. However, no sooner had Linford been removed  to the nursery, Natalia had insisted on having her mother’s jewels back in her  room, and after that, the end had come swiftly for her. Three months later, she was dead. 

After the funeral, Margarethe tried to persuade Lex to lock the jewels away, but he wanted them as a memorial to Natalia, and he, in turn, became the victim of their pernicious influence. She had been watching impotently ever since as his life forces drained steadily from him. 

“ _C’est_ _le diable qui a mis ces maudites pierres sur terre!_ ”  she vowed, crossing herself swiftly. (8)

Clark had nothing reasonable to say in response to this, so merely thanked her for the information she had imparted, and took his leave, not neglecting to say goodnight to Alexandra, too. He did glance at the baby in the cradle, but the little boy had slept soundly through all their discussion and slept on still, so he took good care not to disturb him. 

Outside the nursery, he found Raffaele waiting for him. Without a word, the valet held out a box, about three inches square, in which something rattled loosely. He took it and, steeling himself, cracked open the lid fractionally. He shut it again promptly as the waves of nausea threatened to submerge him, and tried to suppress his too evident sigh of relief as the closed box shielded whatever emanations it was that came from these green stones. 

“Thank you, Raffaele,” he said. “You’ve moved the stand to the vault?” 

“Yes, Mr. Kent.” 

“Good. Would you mind putting this with my outerwear, downstairs? I’ll collect it when I leave in a little. I’m going to see him now, though.” 

“You are leaving for the night because Mr. Dunleavy is not here?” the valet asked. 

“Of course.” 

“You could always stay in the summerhouse, sir?” he suggested. 

Clark hesitated. He longed to stay in that odd little refuge, where he and Lex had made love so often, and shared so many of their most intimate moments, but then he shook his head. 

“It’s –  a nice thought, but not good enough. I need to be seen to be staying away from the property.  For Mrs. Dunleavy’s sake.” 

“My lord will want to know where you are, when he knows you are near.” 

“I’ll try to explain to him. He’ll understand when he’s better, you know that.” 

Raffaele looked at him, his black eyes expressive. “He is very weak, sir.” 

“If you think I’m going to let him slip away now,” Clark said mulishly, “you can think again!”

The Corsican’s face split in a wide, slow grin. “ _Intendo,_ _signore_.” 

Clark returned to Lex’s room, and to whatever might face him there. He  had expected to find Lex wasted. He had been bed-ridden for months now; there was no possibility that he could have retained his sleek muscularity. Nevertheless, it was a shock to see how frail he looked. Always lean, now he was positively gaunt, his cheeks hollowed, his brow furrowed even in sleep. His hands, set limply on the comforter, had gone from fine to near-skeletal, and his skin, always pale, now seemed almost translucent, and so paper-thin that Clark feared the least touch would split the fragile surface and draw blood. 

Bizarrely, it was only then that the greatest physical difference truly registered with  Clark. Lex’s fine, copper-silk  hair had disappeared. Clark was nonplussed as to why he had not perceived this immediately; clearly, this was the most significant change, of which Chloe had tried to warn him. The initial shock past, however, Clark was far from repulsed. In the first  place, he was wildly curious; he focused his gaze to view all of Lex’s body, through the coverings  of bed linen and nightshirt. The hair-loss was comprehensive, he saw. Lex had never been hirsute, his body-hair had always been fine and sparse. Now, there was almost nothing left  –  a faint dusting around the groin, and brows and lashes, thinned, but still visible. Elsewhere, his skin was as smooth as polished marble, and Clark was mesmerised. 

He was beautiful. 

He had always been compelling, but this went beyond mere attractiveness. Clark closed his eyes briefly, and imagined him in full health once again, the firm tone of his body and the natural tints of his skin restored, and nearly fell to his knees at the wave of desire that threatened to submerge him. He opened his eyes again, shaking the sensation off, knowing it was  wholly inappropriate at this time, but still he sat on the edge of the bed, and took one of Lex’s  wasted hands between his own, very gently. 

He sat there for a long time, feeling the slow pulse, still beating, but so weakly. At least it was steady, that was some consolation to him, but it was a far cry from the strong, decisive beat he had heard so often before  as he laid his head on Lex’s breast, when they rested together after lovemaking. Clark could almost feel for himself the soul-crushing fatigue that kept Lex unconscious the great majority of the time. Finally, he drew the hand he held to his lips, to kiss the thin fingers lightly. 

“Lex,” he murmured softly, “you are not going to die, do you hear me? You’re going to live, and live just as fully as you ever have. I know you; you’re not without vanity, you’re going  to find the hair-loss upsetting, if  you’re not already aware of it, and the others will go tiptoeing around on eggshells. They’ve been here all along, of course, they watched you fall ill, and weaken. I don’t suppose it has been particularly pretty. I understand that they find you al tered,  but you’re not, you’re transfigured, and now that I’m here, I fully intend to make that clear to you and everyone else, if need be. I’m here now, I am not leaving your side, not ever again. There is nothing more to fear; just come back to me, I will be  waiting for you.”

Clark could never quite be sure if his voice, let alone his words penetrated Lex’s exhausted slumber, but he would always swear that for just a moment, Lex’s fingers twitched in Clark’s infinitely gentle clasp, and the pain-furrow  between his brows eased just fractionally, his expression relaxing very slightly. Clark smiled quietly, leant forward and brushed his lips very  lightly over Lex’s forehead. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Rest, and fear no more,” he whispered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:-
> 
> 1 “Madame Marguerite, this is Mr. Kent, a very close friend of his lordship. He wishes to ask you something.”  
> 2 “Lord in Heaven!”  
> 3 “Forgive me, madame, I did not mean to frighten you.”  
> “No, no, it – it’s nothing. It’s only that – that you could be the twin of my late mistress. I-I was surprised, please excuse me.”  
> 4 “Who is this man, Greta?”  
> 5 “This gentleman is a friend of your father’s.”  
> 6 “Good evening, little princess. What is your name?”  
> “My name is Alexandra Lillian Luthor. And what is your name, sir?”  
> “My name is Clark Kent. I’m an old friend of your father, but I have not seen him in a long time.”  
> “Papa is very sick.”  
> “Yes, I know. I’ve come to see if I can help him. I would like to speak to Madame Marguerite, if you will allow me?”  
> “Greta can help cure Papa?”  
> “Perhaps. I make no promises, princess, but one must try, is that not so?”  
> “Yes. You may speak with her.”  
> 7 “You have named her well, sir, the little princess.”  
> “She speaks very well for her age.”  
> “Mademoiselle is very advanced; she is even beginning to read. His lordship has always insisted that she be allowed to learn as much as she wishes to, and she is thirsty for knowledge.”  
> “Just as he is, in other words. Madame Marguerite, I wanted to talk to you about those jewels Madame is wearing in her portrait in the dining room. The jewels that his lordship keeps in his room, night and day. Raffaele tells me that you have never liked them....”  
> 8 “The devil put those cursed stones on earth!”
> 
> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	3. In Which Steps Are Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark consults an old friend, and is given further information.

Mitchell had managed to procure rooms for Clark at the _Bay Horse_ in Tannisford. Clark preferred not to ask how, because he could have sworn the place was fully occupied when he had passed through it that morning. However, he was certainly not looking a gift horse in the mouth, for the rooms were clean and comfortable and, as Lex had once told him, the fare was good and hearty. He enjoyed a pleasant dinner in the private salon. The host was being very assiduous  –  Mitchell had clearly put him in awe of his unexpected client  –  but Clark still retired to bed relatively early. It was, however, past midnight before the inn had quieted enough for him to risk exiting by the window, and taking flight for Oxford. 

He travelled quickly, following the road and blessing the moonless night that protected him with its shadow. He arrived in Oxford just a few minutes later. With anyone else, the lateness of the hour would have dissuaded him from making such a trip, but Bruce Wayne was as close to being a nocturnal creature as any man Clark had ever met. If he was in at all  –  and according to his latest letters, he should be  –  Clark knew he would still be wide-awake and working. 

True to form, Bruce was in his laboratory, keeping his habitual, outlandish hours, making his usual painstakingly meticulous notes on his latest experiments. He looked up, surprised, as Clark pushed open his door, and then his wary expression relaxed as much as it ever did, though it turned a little quizzical. 

“Good evening, Clark. This  is a pleasant surprise; I had no idea you were in town. Or are  you?” he asked shrewdly. 

Clark smiled lopsidedly. “I’ve never been able to get anything past you, Bruce, you’re too perceptive. No, to all intents and purposes, I’m not here. You might  call this a flying visit. I  have a favour to ask.” 

“Name it,” Bruce said simply. 

Clark produced the square box from his inner pockets and laid it on the worktable. 

“I need your expertise to analyse the contents. No! Don’t open it!” he said hastily,  as  Bruce’s understandable curiosity made him reach for the box to examine the contents. The chemist’s dark brows winged up in surprise at Clark’s strong reaction, and he pulled his hand  back, startled. 

“Please don’t open it until I’m gone. It’s difficult  to explain, but the contents make me very, very sick. The only reason I could carry it to you is that the box has a lead lining, which  appears to block the effects.”

“An adverse reaction?” Bruce queried, intrigued. 

“I honestly couldn’t tell you, and believe me when I say that I’m not really inclined to experiment with it! You’ll have to wait until I’m gone to look at it. To the best of my knowl edge, it has no short-term effects on a normal body. However, let me stress,  short-term.” 

“In other words, I should keep it in the box unless I absolutely need to examine it?” 

“Exactly.”  


“So what is it you want to know about this mystery substance?” 

“Two things. First of all, that it is definitely  not  what it appears to be, which is an emerald.  It’s been prised from a gold mounting. You should see the claw marks when you examine it.” 

“That should be easy enough.” 

“I would like some sort of formal statement to that effect, if you can. Regardless of  anything else that may emerge, it should be enough for my immediate purposes to prove that  it’s not actually an ordinary gem-stone.” 

Bruce nodded. “And the second thing?” 

“I believe that there is something about that substance that is, ultimately, noxious to all  life within its vicinity. My own reaction is very extreme  –  probably a hypersensitivity of some sort, as you suggested  – but the effect appears to be there even at lesser levels, from what I’ve  observed. Some kind of poisonous emanation that saps energy from the victim, sometimes accompanied  by secondary physical effects.” 

“Such as?”  


“Hair loss?”  


“Are you asking me, or telling me?” 

“I don’t know, Bruce. All I can tell you is what I’ve observed, and what I’ve been told. You’re the chemistry genius here. However, think of what  you know of me; if  I  become so ill  upon exposure to that stuff, then I hardly see that it can be beneficial to anyone else.” 

“A not unreasonable assumption,” Bruce conceded. “Very well, Clark, I’ll do what I can.  I can certainly settle the matter as to  whether it’s truly an emerald or not within twenty-four  hours, and I don’t mind producing an attestation to that effect, if you really need it. However,  identifying any effects it may have on living tissue, that is liable to take quite a bit longer, if I get any results at all, you understand?”

“If there are results to be had, you will find them, Bruce, I know that,” Clark said confidently. “Nothing escapes you. That’s why I brought it to you. Thank you for being willing to help. I’ll be back tomorrow night for your initial impressions.” 

Bruce nodded. “How is Rutherford?” he asked casually. 

Clark blinked at him, then smiled crookedly. “I take it back, you’re not just perceptive, you’re terrifying!” 

A flicker of a smile touched the other man’s lips. “Actually, I was at Carlton House on  the night Lady Rutherford was presented to the King. I recall her quite distinctly. She was wearing an exceedingly striking  parure  of gold and emeralds. When you mentioned emeralds, and knowing your own preoccupations  – which you’ve never really hidden from us –  and knowing  that she is dead, and that I’ve heard that Rutherford is in no great condition himself, I  added two and two together.” 

Clark sighed. “I received a letter just a few days ago summoning me to his bedside. He’s dangerously ill, Bruce, but I’m hoping that  if my hunch is correct, we may start seeing some  improvement soon.” 

“Your hunches are often very sound. I’ll have something for you as soon as I can.” 

Clark made it back to his inn without any mishap, and slept peacefully for the remainder of the night, his spirit eased at the thought he was doing something constructive. He breakfasted agreeably in the morning, and was back at the Park as soon as was decently possible. 

He spent the  morning in Lex’s room, mostly just sitting, thinking, trying to remember what he could about the odd green stones, and watching over Lex’s rest. There was no obvious  improvement, but Clark was not foolish enough to think that relief would come as quickly for anyone else as it did for him when he was removed from the vicinity of the green gems. Besides,  there was Margarethe’s tale. If her observations had been accurate, it would take a  while before any real improvement would be seen. In the meantime, when Lex was gently  roused to take some sustenance, he seemed, again, to recognise Clark’s presence vaguely, and  Clark rather thought he felt eased, less troubled, for it. 

Clark had, however, noticed another absence amongst the faces at the Park, and over lunch, he posed the question to Chloe. 

“By the way, where is Mrs. Jenkins?” 

Chloe sighed. “Gone, I’m afraid. She simply didn’t get along with the new doctor, and  as Lucas has to pick his battles with Lionel very carefully, that was one that was lost. I wish she  was still here, myself. I didn’t know her very well, or very long, but she seemed a much more comforting presence than Mrs. Nesbitt. I can’t say Mrs. Nesbitt isn’t efficient, but she’s about as amiable as a pincushion, between you and me.” 

Clark was completely bewildered, and showed it. “I can’t imagine what could have pushed Mrs. Jenkins to leave. She was absolutely devoted to Lex.” 

“I think that was part of the problem. Oh, you have no idea what’s been going on this last year; it’s so complicated. First of all, you have to understand that there’s an on-going  struggle between Lanchester and Lucas for control here. When Lex really became ill, to the point that he could no longer leave his bed, Lanchester swooped in, just thinking that he could command everything. He got a nasty shock. Lex had seen it coming, and he had signed over power of attorney to Lucas several weeks earlier, as well as having meetings with both Havrelack and Lucas to introduce them to each other, and to lay down guidelines for the immediate  future. That’s been bad enough; you know how things are between those two, anyway, and Lanchester just can’t bear the idea that Lucas has authority here that he hasn’t.  The thing is, Lucas says he has to be careful about exercising that authority, because if he  doesn’t pick his battles, then Lanchester may just take the whole thing to the King, and get Lex’s power of attorney overturned  anyway, probably on the grounds of incompetence due to illness. He has the influence to do so, though it would cause quite a stir. So Lucas stands firm  on some things, and gives way on others.” 

“Mrs. Jenkins was one of the other things?” 

“Well, more to the point, the new doctor was one of the other things.” 

“What’s wrong with the new doctor?  Come to that, why does Lex have a new doctor in  any case?” 

“Oh, well, the man here in Tannisford was perfectly frank ages ago, when Natalia first  started becoming really ill, and said he was out of his depth, so Lex got a London man up to treat them,  and that went on until Natalia died. Then Dr. Foster suddenly retired. I don’t know why, to be honest; the one time I met him, he wasn’t that old, nor did he seem in ill health  himself. However, he chose to retire  – he’s gone to some German spa or other –  and I gather he recommended Dr. Gardner as his replacement. By this time, Lex was only semi-conscious at  best. Gardner’s much younger, about forty, I’d say,  and he has that snooty Harley Street air about him.” 

Clark grinned swiftly at the dry mockery of her tone. 

“However, I can’t really say I find anything wrong with him. I think his restorative tonics  were doing Lex some good, until fairly recently, and he has been good with the children, and  with me, since Lucas and I moved in here. I’m  afraid Mrs. Jenkins took a strong dislike to him, however, and became rather obstructive. Gardner complained to Lanchester, and Lanchester demanded that she either  mend her ways, or leave. She left.”

“That’s a pity, but I suppose what’s done is done. Where did you find Mrs. Nesbitt?” 

“She comes from Lanchester Court.” 

Clark frowned a little, but made no comment on that. “How often does the doctor come now?” 

“He took lodgings in Tannisford several months ago, so normally he’s in every other day.  Even he admits that there is little he can do now, though he has always been on the alert for  signs of change. However, he had to go back to London this week. We don’t expect to see him  back before the middle of January, unless there is some significant  alteration in Lex’s condition,  in which case he said to write immediately and he would come post-haste.” 

She peeled a pear carefully, and asked, with studied artlessness, “So are you going to tell me just why you’ve chosen to play into Margarethe’s silly  superstitions about those wretched gems? I understand  you’ve had them removed to the strong room.” 

“They may not be such silly superstitions as all that, Chloe,” Clark said seriously. “Those  things make  me  sick, never mind Lex. Don’t ask me how or why, I have no idea, but I’ll wager a month’s earnings that they’re no emeralds. In fact, Margarethe says they aren’t, just some pretty green rock that was found somewhere on Prince Lugansky’s estates. I’ve taken the  liberty of having one sent to a friend  of mine, who’s a very talented chemist. We’ll know within a couple of days whether they’re really emeralds or not.” 

Chloe blinked at him, astonished. “Well, there’s a facer! I see I may owe someone an apology. However, even if they aren’t emeralds,  how could a collection of  –  of polished pebbles  be the cause of Natalia and Lex’s illness? It can’t be a matter of contact, surely. The jewels have been handled by any number of people, including myself, at some time or other.” 

“Well – I’m nowhere near  the chemist my friend Bruce is, but I do know that certain substances can react invisibly with the very fabric of the life that surrounds us, whether it be light, or air. There are some elements that need to be preserved in oil, and never allowed into contact with the air we breathe, and others that react violently to daylight, and so need to be kept covered at all times. It occurred to me that this was perhaps such a case. Maybe these stones release some noxious vapours into the air simply as a matter of course, invisible and odourless. With that filling the room constantly,  and them sleeping there...” 

“And their health improving when the gems were removed!” Chloe interjected excitedly. “That is a most excellent deduction, Clark!” 

“It’s a pure guess, that’s all,” he cautioned her. “I could be completely wrong.” 

“Still, it fits the facts quite convincingly. Might your chemist friend be able to discern this reaction?” 

“Maybe. I’ve asked him to do what he can, but results will not come quickly,  I fear. Given how long it took for the effects to touch Lex, I doubt Bruce will find anything of significance right away.” 

“You said you became sick immediately,” she countered. 

He gave her a dry look. “Have you never heard of  hypersensitivity, Chloe? Forgive me, much as I love Lex, I am not prepared to commit suicide by voluntarily exposing myself to something that makes me extremely ill just for the sake of scientific experiment. I consider that  I’m of more use to Lex alive than in as bad condition as he is.” 

“I wasn’t suggesting you martyr yourself in the name of science,” she shot back, equally  dryly. 

“Thank you! However, it’s precisely the fact that I do become ill so promptly that makes me think there’s something in the air that is, quite literally, toxic to us.” 

“If you’re right, then Lex’s condition should start to improve.” 

“If it’s not too late,” Clark said mutedly. 

She touched his arm lightly. “You’re the one who said you weren’t going to let him die. Have faith that you’ve made the right decision, Clark, and that you’ve acted in time.” She let a moment pass in silence, and then asked, “Are you going back up to sit with him again?” 

“Yes. Have you got any newspapers? I thought I might read to him. If there’s a chance  he can  still hear and understand, even subconsciously, I’m quite sure he’d rather know what’s going on in the world around him.” 

Chloe smiled crookedly. “How true. Yes, Lex gets papers delivered from all over the country; he’s not content with just the London news. They’re all taken to the library after  breakfast,  and there, you can take your pick. You’ll probably even find a couple of week’s worth of back issues.” 

“Good. I might do that, start back a week or two.” He hesitated briefly. “I wondered –  do  you have any objections if I continue to visit the nursery, too? I thought I’d rather like to get to know Lex’s children.” 

She gave him an amused look. “I see you truly do have designs on Lex’s future,” she  teased. “You plan on winning over the little ones.”

He blushed hotly. “I-I hadn’t exactly thought of it in those terms, Chloe,” he defended  himself. 

She laughed, and patted his arm again. “I’m teasing you, silly boy. You’re quite right.  You and the children need to become acquainted if you’re  to become a part of Lex’s life. Of course, Linford’s too small to make judgements one way or another, but Alexandra has quite a mind of her own, even at two and a half.” 

He grinned fleetingly. “Yes, I rather did get that impression yesterday.” 

Chloe  giggled. “She will have you wrapped around her little finger in no time at all!” she  prophesied cheerfully. 

That night, back in Oxford, Bruce was waiting for him. 

“To begin with,” he said, without preamble, “here is your attestation that this stone  is most definitely not an emerald, or any member of that family of gemstones. If you need a second opinion for any reason, I strongly suggest that you take a sample to a jeweller, rather  than another chemist.” 

“Why?” Clark asked, puzzled. 

“Because  no chemist worth his salt is going to want to let go of such an item once it fell into his hands. It raises more questions than it answers. To put it simply, Clark, this material is like nothing I have ever come across before. I cannot relate it to any element I know of. It reacts  most peculiarly. It’s a miracle that it could be carved at all, because it’s  resistant to acid, and although I think it would melt, it would take temperatures higher than anything I can generate; indeed, higher than those of any forge I know of as yet. Yet it does cut, a little easier than diamond, though not much. More than that, it is possible to grind it down into a very fine powder, and that is the only way I have been able to obtain reactions at all. However, even those reactions are unhelpful, as nothing has allowed me to classify this  –  this  stuff  in any  useful way!” He scowled at Clark. “You can just wipe that smile off your face, Kent. I admit it, I’m baffled, and you obviously remember perfectly well how much I dislike being baffled.” 

“It is rather novel,” Clark grinned. “There’s not much that leaves you puzzled for long, usually.” He sobered. “Still, what  can  you tell me?” 

“That if it’s toxic, I do not know how. Yet. There’s certainly nothing obvious.  Gaseous emanations produced when mixing the powder with various solutions contained nothing that  affected the test animals in any obvious way, and certainly nothing fatal. They all appear perfectly  healthy and normal. I haven’t tried making them ingest  any of it, since from what  you’ve said that’s almost certainly not one of the means by which Rutherford or his wife could have become affected. I don’t suppose you’ve seen any change in him, have you?”

“In twenty-four  hours? No, but I hardly expected  to. Of course I’ll let you know if –  when  – his condition does improve, and in what manner.” 

“Then I suggest you leave the sample with me and allow me to conduct long-term  experiments. However, when I say long-term, I mean it. It could take up to a year to get any concrete results. Also, it would be easier if I could observe the effects on you, since they are, by  your own admission, very radical.” 

“Are you trying to kill me?” Clark asked dryly. “I’m sorry, I’m going to have to decline.” 

Bruce sighed, apparently disappointed, but Clark knew he was merely jesting, in his somewhat heavy-handed fashion. 

“Do what you want with it, Bruce,” Clark went on. “I’ll leave it in your hands. However,  I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself. Also  –  be careful of your own health, and your  exposure to it, if you’re determined to play with the stuff,” he added soberly. “I’d hate to see you, too, brought down by it, especially since you’re aware that I think it’s harmful.” 

Bruce nodded, touched by  Clark’s solicitude. “How bad is the hair loss, just out of  curiosity?”  he asked. 

“Almost total, and it would appear to be permanent, though we’ll see as he starts  recovering.” 

“I can’t imagine it. What does he look like?” 

Clark paused, his hand on  the doorknob. “Breathtaking,” he said simply, with a faint  smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	4. In Which There Are Hints Of Something Darker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lionel pays a visit, and Clark makes yet more discoveries.

Clark’s days slipped quickly into a steady pattern. He arrived just after breakfast, and went immediately to see Lex. He would sit quietly in Lex’s room and read, or write  letters, and help Raffaele to ensure that Lex took some nourishment. He joined Chloe for lunch, and after lunch would go to the nursery for an hour or so. Since he had taken her fears so seriously, and had managed to do something about them, he had become a firm favourite with Margarethe, who always welcomed him. 

Linford turned out to be a remarkably calm baby with very expressive features that betrayed his feelings long before the wails of discomfort or annoyance began. Clark, used to hearing from Mrs. Ross that boys were  far  more trouble than girls, was amused, for as calm as Linford was, Alexandra was imperious, demanding and quite irresistibly charming. She pouted  when he could not, in all honesty, reassure her that her father’s health was improving,  only to giggle enchantingly when he entertained her with the tale of his first encounter with Lex.

When he came into the room on subsequent occasions, she would rush up to him and cling to his knee like a limpet until he picked her up and perched her on his shoulder. She loved his height, and the vantage point it gave her. Linford would usually greet him with a toothless  smile, a drawled “Baa,” and a chubby little hand reaching up to tug amiably at Clark’s dark curls. 

Margarethe encouraged his attentions to the children, particularly when she realised that he was making a conscious decision to speak English to them, Alexandra in particular, and requiring that she respond in the same language, only reverting to French when communications failed  badly. Margarethe’s own English was poor, and although Chloe also tried to spend  a little time in the nursery daily, and certainly spoke English as a matter of course, she had not had the same impact on Alexandra that Clark was having. 

After a visit to  the nursery, Clark would return to Lex’s room, and read articles from  various gazettes to him. He always read the front-page news, and then would alternate business and government news with quirky little pieces that amused him. Lex gave no sign that he was hearing any of this, but Clark read on, anyway. His voice never tired, so it was no effort, and he was genuinely interested in seeing the different newspapers from different parts of the country. He would read until early evening, help Raffaele again to feed Lex, and then take his leave of Chloe and return to the Bay Horse for dinner. He hoped, when Lucas returned to Rutherford Park, that he would then be able to move back into the house. 

It was while he was engaged in the nursery that Clark encountered Lionel Luthor once more. He should not have been surprised; Chloe had warned him that the Duke was a frequent  visitor. On the other hand, Lanchester had clearly been informed of Clark’s presence, for he  betrayed not the least surprise to see Clark seated on the floor with Alexandra and her toys. He did not, however, look particularly pleased about it. 

Margarethe stood and dipped in a swift curtsey as Lanchester strode into the nursery. She might as well not have been there for all the attention he paid her. His gaze flickered over her dismissively. 

Clark, too, came to his feet swiftly, setting Alexandra, who had been sitting in his lap, upright. At Lanchester’s  cold glance, he flushed a little. He could hardly help his somewhat  dishevelled condition, for Alexandra regularly took a wicked delight in mangling his cravat at the earliest opportunity. 

“Mr. Kent.” 

Clark bowed. “Your Grace.” 

“I confess to being somewhat surprised to see you here. Lex has little to offer you at  present. I believe  you’ve left a good job up north, too.” 

“I was needed,” Clark said simply, “so I came, and will stay for as long as that need  exists.” 

“Yes, I had heard you had taken up residence.” 

“No, sir, I’m lodged in Tannisford, at least until Mr. Dunleavy  returns. He alone may  authorise my residence here, under the circumstances.” 

Lanchester made no reply, though an angry light glinted briefly in his eyes. He clearly did not appreciate being reminded that he was not the master in this house. It was only for a second, however, and when he looked at the little girl, his glance was as coolly dispassionate as before. Clark could feel the tension in the child. She stood at his side, head held high, proudly independent, as always, but Clark had the impression that if she could, she would have been clinging to his knees again, and not in her usual playful manner. 

“Alexandra,” Lanchester acknowledged her. 

The little girl bobbed a curtsey. “ _Grand-père._ ” 

He looked at the alphabet blocks with which they had been playing, and nodded with some approval.  “ _Je vois que tu t’appliques enfin à l’anglais. Il était temps._ ” 

“ _Oui, grand-père._ ” (9)

He then crossed to the crib, and Clark watched in amazement as his whole demeanour changed. As he reached in to pick up the baby, his expression warmed and softened. He raised the baby up, smiling slowly.

“My little Linford. Still flourishing. You shall be a worthy successor to the Luthor name, I’ll see to that.” 

Linford simply gurgled at him placidly, and Lanchester smiled indulgently at him, before laying him back down in his crib. 

“Well, I must visit my poor son,” he announced evenly, his expression returning to its normal impassivity. “Good day to you all.” 

When the door had closed behind him, Clark and Margarethe exchanged a speaking glance. The governess was too genteel to comment on her employer or his immediate family, but she liked Clark very much, and was not above letting him know in subtler ways her opinions. Clearly, she held Lanchester in no greater affection than did Clark, and Clark, all of a  sudden, experienced an overwhelming desire to know what Lanchester was doing in Lex’s  room. He excused himself, and sped along the corridor and up the stairs, into the second bedroom. From there, he passed silently into the bathroom, and halted just outside the con necting door to Lex’s room, from where he could observe whatever was happening easily. 

Lanchester had summoned Mrs. Nesbitt to the room, and was interrogating her exhaustively about any changes  to Lex’s diet. 

“You’re still following Dr. Gardner’s instructions?”  


“To the letter, my lord,” she assured him. 

“There have been no changes at all.” 

“Have you been using the tonic he prescribed? No one has tried to interfere?” 

“Not in the least, my lord. Once or twice, I’ve had to give it to Mrs. Dunleavy, too. She  was in the kitchen when I was preparing a meal, and I was instructed to be sure she did not know there was anything different about the tonic she was taking, and the one being given to his lordship. However, Dr. Gardner assured me before leaving that as long as it was only very occasional,  she would come to no harm.” 

“I suppose it can’t be helped, from time to time. You’ve not found any food missing?” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Missing, my lord? No, not at all. Of course, Mr. Kent’s here  much of the time now, and he has a fair appetite. He likes to snack, mid-morning and mid-afternoon, too, but that’s the only difference there’s been in the household of late. I can  account for  every egg, every slice of bread, every pint of short ale, my lord, never fear.” 

What she did not know was that Clark was bringing eggs and rolls from the _Bay Horse_ every day, and he and Raffaele were feeding Lex very small portions of bread soaked in a mixture of egg, milk and sugar, any time his crushing lethargy seemed to lift enough to permit him to absorb such additional nourishment. On the other hand, neither of them had thought to prevent Lex from eating anything that was coming up from the kitchens. 

Clark certainly did not like what he was hearing at this moment. He knew about the tonic, he had seen the glasses come up from the kitchen, and had sampled the liquid, which had seemed harmless enough. Clark decided he had best try to get hold of a sample of this tonic  –  of both tonics, he corrected. He would like to know precisely what was being given to Chloe, too. It looked as though another visit to Bruce was in order. In the meantime, he returned his attention to the adjoining room. 

Mrs.  Nesbitt left, not before he saw the glint of gold pass between Lanchester’s hand  and hers. Lanchester prowled around the room, thoughtfully, lifting books to read the spines, and leafing lightly through the sheets of paper in the desk. Clark was thankful that he had left no correspondence unfinished that morning, for it was obvious it would have been read,  without a second’s hesitation. Then Lanchester went to Lex’s bedside, and looked down at his  son for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Unreadable, that is, until he frowned,  moving a little so that the light from the windows fell more clearly upon Lex’s face. 

“Maybe I made a mistake, allowing Gardner to go back to London for a time,” he murmured to himself. “Something has changed. Perhaps he  should be here to ensure matters follow  their natural course.” 

He lingered a moment or two more, and then left the room abruptly. Clark waited until  he was quite sure Lanchester was returning downstairs, and entered Lex’s room, his expression  grim. He  went to Lex’s side, and reached down to stroke his cheek very lightly, then bent to  press a soft kiss to the pale dome of his head. 

“He shan’t harm you, Lex,” he whispered, “I won’t let him, or anyone else, bring any more harm to you than you’ve already endured.” 

It took some ingenuity to get into the kitchen, find the tonics Mrs. Nesbitt had referred to, steal a small sample of each, and leave again, all without being noticed by the busy kitchen staff. He needed both his speed and his ability to fly, or rather, in this case, to hover, and thanked his good luck for the height of the ceilings, and the fact that the staff was too preoccupied to look up very often. He would have been extremely hard put to explain what he was doing lurking in a corner high above them, waiting for another gap in the activity so that he could accomplish his next manoeuvre. In the nail-bitingly tense moments as he waited, sure he was going to be discovered at any instant, some small, dispassionately analytical part of his  brain (that sounded disconcertingly like Bruce) told him that it was high time he applied some thought and discipline to the use of his powers, instead of acting on impulse, as he usually did. In answer, he reflected hopefully that he might yet develop the gift of invisibility. However, eventually, he achieved his purpose, and left the house that night with two little stoppered flasks of liquid, and a quandary.

He was convinced that Lanchester meant no good to his son, yet he was equally convinced that  it was the green stones that were responsible for Lex’s illness, and there was no possible way in which Lanchester could have known that. The man’s words, overheard by  Clark, had sounded menace-laden, and yet, if he took a step back and considered it objectively, they could be interpreted in a perfectly innocent fashion. Lanchester had never been, he knew from Lex, an affectionate parent, but that was a far cry from actually wanting harm to come to his son. Additionally, Clark could discern no satisfactory motive. 

He was even more confused when Bruce reported back on the contents of the two vials. 

“This one,” the chemist said, holding up the tonic given to Lex, “is nothing more than a  mild sedative. Water, orange-flower water, and a quarter grain of laudanum to approximately  four pints of liquid. Harmless unless taken in excessive quantities.” 

“Define excessive.”  


“You’d need to consume three to four gallons a day before any real trouble started.” 

“But two to three small glasses a day...?”  


“Would just make you pleasantly drowsy.”  


“And the other?” 

“A reasonably competent restorative tonic, of varied herbal origins. Also harmless, and  probably  quite beneficial to a fatigued system.” He eyed Clark with dry amusement. “Those do  not appear  to have been the answers you expected. What were you looking for, poison?” 

“Perhaps,” Clark admitted ruefully. 

Bruce shook his head at his young friend. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Clark.  Has it occurred to you that there may be nothing between you and Rutherford now, when he wakes?  It has been more than five years. People change.” 

“Don’t think I haven’t considered that. No matter what, I intend to see him fully recovered, however. I’ll take whatever comes after that.” 

He was reading aloud from an Edinburgh newspaper the next afternoon when the door opened with rather more brusqueness than was usual. Clark looked up sharply, to see Lucas Dunleavy enter. Clark stood immediately, setting aside the paper, but Dunleavy spared him only one wary glance before moving promptly to the bedside to look down on his half-brother. He stood there for what seemed to Clark like an eternity. When he spoke, eventually, it was very softly, and hardly seemed to be addressing Clark at all. 

“I don’t  quite know how, but he seems a little better. Not quite so  – so transparent.” 

He looked up at Clark again, and jerked his head towards the door, indicating Clark should follow him out. They repaired to the other bedroom. 

“Chloe and I had quite the argument over inviting you here,” Dunleavy began, without  preamble,  when the door had closed behind them. “I still think you were more trouble than you can possibly have been worth. However, I can’t deny that in the days before he finally  slipped into that  unending sleep, Lex was indeed calling for you. I’m willing to try anything –  anything  – that will bring him back to us.” 

“As am I,” Clark assured him quietly. “I know you have no very kind feelings towards me, and I’m grateful for your tolerance. Be  assured that I want nothing more than to see Lex  fully restored. If, after that, I’m not welcome, I will not trouble either of you with my presence  any longer than necessary.” 

Dunleavy gave him a wry look, going to sit in one of the armchairs, and gesturing to Clark to take the other. 

“Necessary may be a term requiring further definition. Chloe tells me Raffaele, who’s  the stubbornest mule in Christendom towards anyone save Lex, does your bidding without a  moment’s hesitation. Margarethe thinks you’re a very proper sort of gentleman,  imbued with all the virtues. Alexandra appears to have recovered her usual spirits, and clearly looks forward eagerly to your daily visits, and, of course, you won my wife over years ago. Mrs. Nesbitt, on the other hand, appears to disapprove of you somewhat, for reasons that are not exactly clear.  That, however, in Chloe’s eyes, is more of a recommendation  than otherwise. In short, you  seem to have ensconced yourself quite comfortably in Lex’s household.” 

Clark could only flush a little, and look awkward. He was not particularly conscious of any of these matters. 

“Under the circumstances,” Dunleavy continued, “and now that I have returned, I think  you might as well move back in here. This was your room, was it not?” 

“Yes, but I suppose the Marchioness, too...” 

“No, oddly enough. While married, Lex occupied a suite in the other wing. Of course, it  was far closer to the nursery. After Natalia died, he chose to return to these rooms. There has  been no other occupant of this chamber since you last resided here. Let me add that when I said you might as well remove here, I should perhaps have said that it might be in your best interests to do so. I stopped by the _Bay Horse_ on the way here, thinking I might find you there and talk on, shall we say, more neutral ground? Instead, I encountered my father, not two  paces from your door.”

Clark opened wide eyes. “His Grace slept here last night.” 

“As always,” Dunleavy agreed. “He told me some trifling problem with the  coach had imposed a brief halt at the inn this morning, while a competent workman attended  to it. It’s  true that Deller’s  private parlour is at the end of that passage onto which your room opens.  However, knowing Lanchester, I trust you had nothing important or particularly private in your  room.” 

“You really think he might have searched my property?” 

“I think there’s an excellent chance.” 

“I’d placed my funds in the bank when I arrived, and I keep my bank book on me. I have little else.” 

“Don’t be stupid!” Dunleavy said, a little impatiently. “He’s no petty thief, and I’m sure the state of your finances doesn’t interest him in the least. No, he’d be looking for some  indication  of your plans, or for the extent of your knowledge.” 

Clark kept  Bruce’s attestation regarding the so-called “emeralds” on him, along with his pocket book, while the stone itself was safe in Oxford, in Bruce’s hands, as were the two vials of  fluids. He did not think there was anything else in the room that could have given Lanchester any inkling of his thoughts or recent activities. 

“No, I don’t believe he’d have found anything of interest,” he said slowly. 

“Nevertheless, I think you had best assume that your rooms are no refuge from his  curiosity.” 

“Nor is this house,” Clark said soberly, and proceeded to reveal to the other man every thing he knew and had done since arriving at the Park. 

“You’re saying Dr. Gardner has been drugging both Lex and my wife for weeks!” Lucas  exclaimed, visibly alarmed. 

“No, no, not Chloe,” Clark said quickly. “I had both tonics tested. The one Chloe re ceives is perfectly recommended for her. The point is that she was told that she was being given the  same  potion as was being given to Lex, and that’s not true. It was only the  case when  she was present at the time, in the kitchen, when she would have seen for herself, that she was  given anything from the same bottle as Lex. On the other hand, it won’t have harmed her, not in the minute doses she’d have had up to this point. It’s not even particularly harmful to Lex.”

“I’m completely at sea with all this. Why pretend to give a Lex a tonic at all, if it’s  nothing more than a soporific  – which, God knows, he hardly needs, in the state he’s in! Why  hide from us that Chloe is taking  something quite different?” 

“I’d have thought you’d be a little more concerned that Mrs. Nesbitt, at least, if not the doctor, is clearly working for Lanchester.” 

Lucas waved a hand dismissively. “I suspected that as soon as she came here. It was  hardly to be supposed that Lionel would allow me to rule the roost here without keeping an eye on things. The skirmishes are constant, Kent, but for the main, I still have the upper hand. I keep it by letting him get away with little things like the odd  spy in the household. It’s not as if he’s learning much of interest; I keep all of Lex’s business interests in London.” 

“There are no spies there?” 

He grinned ferally. “You don’t know my father very well. He wouldn’t sully his hands  dealing with the  likes of Lex’s man of business. Havrelack’s not only a foreigner, he’s a Jew, and so is his sole assistant.” 

“What’s to stop Lanchester using an intermediary?” 

“Havrelack. He’s too shrewd. I won’t say he’s incorruptible, but he does very well from Lex’s business, and he won’t risk that readily. He might deal directly with my father, but he  certainly  wouldn’t waste his time with an underling. No, there’s little risk of Lionel getting into Lex’s business. That’s safe enough for the moment, though  there will come a time, quite soon,  when his guiding hand will need to apply again, if his gains are to be protected.” 

“Well, you’re certainly better informed on that front than I. Nevertheless, I can’t help  but feel that your parent means no good to Lex.” 

“Given what you’ve told me, I can understand why you might think that. Once again, though, I say there’s no sense to it. Lionel would never harm his only child.” He stood. “I’ll tell  Mitchell to send someone to the Bay Horse for your things. I  assume you’d like to get back to Lex. Why do you read aloud to him anyway?” he asked curiously. 

“I’m convinced that he’s aware of his surroundings, somewhere in the depths of his mind,” Clark explained, rather shyly. 

Lucas gave him a quizzical look.  “You’re an odd fellow, Kent. Still, I suppose there’s no harm in it. I’ll see you at dinner.” 

 

&*&*&*&*&*&

 

The servants, having seen to it that all the food was properly presented, glasses filled, and decanters ready to hand, departed, leaving the trio to converse privately. Lucas prompted Clark to tell Chloe all that he had not already mentioned to her, regarding the tonics, Mrs. Nesbitt, and his own suspicions  –  to which Lucas promptly added the rider about Lanchester never harming his heir. Chloe looked from one to the other, and gave a disdainful sniff.

“Men! God may have formed Eve from Adam’s rib, but at least He remembered to give her the intelligence He neglected to bestow upon the male of the species!” 

Lucas winced exaggeratedly. “That is my dear wife’s circumlocutionary way of saying  we are overlooking the obvious. She has just become more objectionable about it over the last  couple of months.” 

Seeing Chloe’s eyes narrow dangerously, Clark grinned. “I have the feeling you’re going  to regret that  remark.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” He smiled sweetly at his wife. “So what are we missing, Chloe?” 

“A bundle of joy sleeping just a few feet over our heads.” 

“Linford?” Clark queried, startled. 

“Of course, you idiots! Linford is Lex’s  legitimate heir, and is displaying every sign of robust good health. If Lex was to die tomorrow, guess who gets the guardianship of Linford?  Lionel, that’s who. Oh, the Russian grandparent nominally has an equal claim, but he’s thou sands of miles away, and possession, as they say, is nine-tenths of the law. It would be at least  two months before he even heard of Lex’s death, and another two before he could make his way to this country. By that time, Lionel’s claim would be fully confirmed by our courts,  all the  more so since Linford’s inheritance from his mother is quite small, while a very significant title  and estate awaits him from both father and paternal grandfather. Lionel would have complete control over all the Rutherford estates and interests until Linford came of age. On top of that,  he’d have a second chance to mould an impressionable child exactly as he pleased. Linford would be his puppet for as long as Lionel lived, and he’s a healthy specimen himself.” 

“What of Alexandra?” Clark asked,  aghast. 

“What of her?” Chloe shrugged, her tone harsh. “She’s an heiress, of course. I’m sure  Lex has left her well provided for from unentailed property, and parts of his business interests.  Nevertheless, she’s still just a female. Lionel would ensure  that she married advantageously  –  to  his  advantage, that is  – as soon as she turned seventeen. She wouldn’t have much say in the  matter.”

“Lex would never do that,” Clark said. 

“No, I’m sure he wouldn’t. He would protect her interests, but he’d  certainly let her opinion  count,” Chloe agreed, sympathetically. “Lionel is old school, however. Women exist to  marry and to breed. A wife is an asset, like property, and personal sympathies are irrelevant,  and a weakness.” 

“I could have sworn Lionel  would never take on another child, given what happened  with Lex,” Lucas objected, very pale. “Could he possibly sacrifice Lex in order to gain control of his grandchild?” 

“I’m saying that it’s a possibility. While you were in a position to lay claim to  his title, he would never wish to see Lex come to harm. Now, he has the option  –  and Lex has been a thorn  in his side for years.” 

“But Linford could turn out to be just as intractable as Lex.” 

Chloe sighed. “He won’t be given the opportunity. Don’t  you realise that  you  were the  deciding factor, my dear? You appeared in Lex’s life at a crucial moment. Suddenly, he had a  companion, and a confidant. You adored him, you looked up to him, you gave him a confidence in himself that Lionel had  –  consciously or otherwise  –  spent years trying to undermine. Lionel ignored you, thinking you insignificant, and in his terms, you were, but to Lex you were the very essence of freedom, and by the time you were removed from that house he was old enough to retain the  lesson.” She smiled at him fondly. 

“Don’t you see that? That’s why he ensured your independence, as soon as he could.  He loves you, but more than that, he felt he owed you a great debt. Oh, you became reacquainted, and your feeling for each other is as real as when you were children together, but he was repaying an obligation when he saw to it that even if he disappeared  –  remember that he had just signed up, and it was a very real possibility  –  you would be set for life. No, you made a very great  difference in Lex’s life, and Linford will not be given that chance, you may be sure of that. Lionel will see to it, believe me.” 

There was a prolonged silence as the two men contemplated Chloe’s prediction. 

“Would he really stoop to  murder?  For a  pliable successor?” Clark asked eventually, in a  muted tone. 

“Murder? Perhaps not. Allowing Lex to die, though, that’s a different matter,” she  answered.  “Lex is truly very seriously ill. There’s no doubt it’s the same malady that carried off  Natalia, and there has been every reason to suppose that Lex would succumb in turn. Natural death is regrettable, but quite beyond suspicion. If Dr. Gardner has been doing anything  underhand, it has been to keep Lex insensible, probably so that he couldn’t make  any changes to his dispositions.”

“Such as?” Lucas queried. 

“Such as making Charles Pyatt the children’s guardian, for example. If Lex had thought there was a risk of them falling prey to Lionel, it’s something he might have done, entrust them  to someone who is a good friend to him, and has both the financial and the social status to stand up to Lanchester. Indeed, he may already have done so  – you’re the only one who would know, Lucas.” 

He shook his head. “I haven’t asked to see his will.” 

“Well,  I imagine the idea is bothering Lionel considerably, particularly since he discovered you had been empowered  to handle all of Lex’s affairs while he’s ill.” 

“But you think he’s going to recover now,” Lucas said to Clark. 

“I pray so. There’s little indication as yet, but it’s only been a few days.” 

“It’s hard to believe a bunch of green rocks could have that effect on anybody,” Lucas said, in a rather disgruntled tone. “However, I admit that I felt he had a better mien when I saw  him earlier. I  suppose we’ll have to be patient. On the other hand, now is perhaps the time to exercise particular vigilance. Lionel does not take kindly to being thwarted.” 

“Then we can start by getting rid of his spies,” Chloe said firmly, “beginning with Mrs.  Nesbitt.” 

Lucas sighed. “How, without arousing suspicions?” 

She reached out to pat his hand condescendingly. “You leave that to me, dear. She’ll be  gone by the end of next week  –  willingly. You two concentrate on finding out who the others  are.” 

“I dread to ask,” Lucas eyed her doubtfully. 

She smirked. “You’re the one who keeps reminding me of my ‘condition’. You’d be amazed what a pregnant woman can get away with.” 

“If I might make a suggestion,” Clark said. “You’ll need a replacement housekeeper  rather promptly. I could see if I could persuade Mrs. Jenkins to resume her post, despite Dr.  Gardner. If you wish, I’ll talk to her. I believe she could be convinced, and she’s quite devoted to Lex.” 

“I always liked her well enough,” Lucas agreed. “I’ve no objections to see her return.” 

“From what I’ve heard, I’m inclined to think her departure was contrived,” Clark explained. “She and Lanchester always hated each other. If he wanted to replace someone high  up amongst the servants, she was the obvious target. Lex conscious, it would never have happened.” 

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “A very good point.” Then she grinned broadly. “Thank you, Clark, you’ve given me something with which to distract myself. I’m looking forward to spiking  Lionel’s  guns!” 

Over the next week, Clark watched in astonishment as Chloe turned into a volatile, temperamental shrew. In private, between the three of them, she reverted to her usual generous, bright self, but the moment any of the staff was around, she became the most capricious, changeable, extravagant, short-tempered and downright abusive nightmare of a mistress imaginable, particularly towards the maids, whom she frequently sent away in tears. At the end of the week, the atmosphere in the house was untenable, and Lucas sent for Mrs. Nesbitt. 

He was the picture of restrained embarrassment, when she presented herself to him in the study. 

“Thank you for joining me, Mrs. Nesbitt. Please, be seated.” She did so, in dignified  silence, while Lucas paced  a little around the desk. “I don’t quite know how to say this but, well, I’m sure you’ve noticed that Mrs. Dunleavy has, well, become rather, ah, demanding of late.” 

“If I may speak freely, sir, Mrs. Dunleavy is reducing all the girls to nervous wrecks,” she said, lips pursed primly. “I’ve done my best to stop any of them leaving, but I won’t be able to much longer.” 

“Yes, well, what can I say? In her condition, the least little thing gets blown up quite out  of proportion. The thing is, you see, I’m  afraid she’s rather taken against you, personally. Now,  I told her weeks ago she was being foolish, and quite imagining any disrespect towards her, that  you were far too professional for that sort of nonsense, that you’re an admirable housekeeper,  and  that she’d regret it if you left. For a while, I thought she had seen sense, but now –  now I  just don’t know what to do anymore.” Lucas played the helpless male to perfection. “I wouldn’t even bring this up if I didn’t have the firm conviction that you  yourself are beginning  to find the situation most unsatisfactory.” 

“Are you asking me to leave, sir?” 

“Not if you don’t wish to,” he said hastily. “However, if you could see your way, I’m  prepared  to offer three months’ wages in lieu of notice and, of  course, sterling references. I will  make it quite clear that you’ve left because we’d simply made it impossible for you to do otherwise, and that your service has otherwise been exemplary. However, I’m sure you under stand my position, Mrs. Nesbitt. She’s  my wife, carrying our first child....”

She unbent a fraction. “Yes, of course, sir. Three months, you say?” 

“Absolutely!” 

She considered the matter for a moment, and  then nodded. “It is probably for the best  if I leave, sir. Your terms are quite  satisfactory.” 

Lucas let his relief show unabashedly. “Thank you so much for your comprehension, it’s  very good of you. Of course, you may count on us to provide you transportation to wherever  you wish to go.” 

She stood, and curtsied. “Thank you,  sir. I believe I shall be ready to leave on Monday.  If you’ll excuse me, I have some arrangements to take care of.” 

When she was gone, Lucas glanced across the room, towards the screen that concealed the far corner. 

“You can come out now,” he said  dryly. 

Clark emerged from behind the screen, his expression a mixture of amusement and admiration. 

“That was very good. Did Chloe coach you?” 

Lucas grinned suddenly. “Word for word. Lord, I wish you’d seen Nesbitt’s face. Self-satisfied cow! ‘Your terms are quite satisfactory.’ I should bloody well think so! Well, it’s your  turn now. See if you can persuade Mrs. Jenkins to put up with Dr. Gardner, until we can get rid  of him, too. Though who we’re going to get to replace him, who’s not just  as likely to be  susceptible to Lanchester’s blandishments, I can’t think.” 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I wrote to a friend of mine, from Oxford, regarding doctors. He’s very well connected, and has given me a name, a very good doctor, he says, who takes  his  oath very seriously and will always do what’s in the patient’s best interests, regardless of other pressures.” 

“You trust this fellow’s opinion?” 

“Absolutely. If my friend says this Dr. Thompkins is good, and will do the right thing by  Lex, I believe  him.” 

“Well, your own judgement’s been pretty sound this far,” Lucas conceded. “Let’s try this Dr. Thompkins of yours, if we can. However, it’s not going to be easy to fire Gardner.” 

“We’ll think of something, between the three of us.” 

Lex had the good sense to postpone his awakening until Mrs. Nesbitt had left the premises, but the very next morning, as Clark sat reading quietly, a faint rustle from the bed alerted him to movement. Although it was a development he had hoped for with all his heart, he approached the bed almost disbelievingly, afraid that the long wait had lured his senses into  error. But, no, Lex’s head turned on the pillow, and one hand fluttered weakly, as if trying to  raise and signal something. Clark guessed that he was thirsty. Although Lex had been woken regularly in the attempt to get him to take some nourishment, it had always been little enough; conscious, it was more than likely that he was feeling the effects of too little liquid over a long period of time. Clark poured out a glass of water, and then sat at the head of the bed, and slid  one arm under Lex’s shoulders to raise him gently, so that he could hold the glass to his lips. 

As he felt the glass touch his mouth, Lex tried to raise his hands again, to hold it, but they were shaking too much, and Clark sought to soothe him. 

“Shh, don’t try anything yet. I’ll hold it,” he said softly. “Just sip, slowly. Everything’s all right now, Lex, I’ve got you.” 

Just the effort of drinking seemed to exhaust Lex, but rather than lying back down, he turned his head in towards Clark, and sought a comfortable position against his shoulder. Clark shifted his seat to accommodate Lex, none too sure just how lucid he really was, or whether this was simply a variant of the semi-somnambulist state of the last few weeks, in which it was still possible to get him to take in some nutrition, but little else. 

He was answered a moment later when there was a long, slow sigh from the vicinity of his collarbone. The whisper was so faint it would have been inaudible to anyone else. 

“Clark?”  


He tightened his embrace gently around Lex’s frail form. “Yes, Lex, it’s me.” 

“Not dreaming.”  


“No, no, I’m really here. I’ve been here since before the New Year.”

There was a pause, then a deep intake of breath.  


“Still smell the same. Italian cypress, lemon verbena....”  


Clark smiled. “I’ve never stopped using it. My one extravagance.” 

Indeed, a custom-made  cologne from Weston’s was an extravagance, but Clark spent so  little money as it was, and he had found that he could not bear the idea of relinquishing that fresh and subtle scent, designed specifically for him by Lex almost at the start of their acquaintance. 

“It reminded me of you,” he admitted, his tone soft and intimate. 

“Should have forgotten me,” came Lex’s whisper, after another long pause. 

“I never wanted to do that, either.” 

Clark thought for a moment that Lex had slipped back into sleep, when the next whisper came, very slow, and a little slurred. 

“Missed you.” 

“Oh, me, too, Lex. Me, too,” Clark sighed. 

This time, Lex really did slide back into sleep. Clark waited several minutes, until he was sure that there would be nothing more forthcoming from Lex, and set him gently back against his pillows, before going to share the good news that Lex was emerging from his deathly sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:-
> 
> 9 “I see you’re at last applying yourself to your English. It was about time.”  
> “Yes, grandfather.”
> 
> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	5. In Which An Investigation Is Conducted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enquiring minds want to know... and uncover much.

Mr. Armstrong looked around unobtrusively, and slid a key into a shabby-looking door lurking between two houses in Rathbone Street. The area was quiet, as this was just off the unfashionable end of Oxford Street. However, to Armstrong, that only meant that if anyone  was  looking, then they were all the more likely to see, and for all the wrong reasons. The first couple of times he had come this way, he had had to risk picking the lock to gain access, but as what he had found therein proved to be singularly useful, he had eventually managed to get a key cut for the lock, whose modernity belied the dilapidated state of the door. He entered, and closed and locked the access swiftly behind him. 

The area into which he had entered was more spacious than the doorway would have suggested. Once upon a time, before Rathbone Street and the various surrounding streets had been built up, it had been a mews  –  stabling for the two rows of houses that backed onto it from either side. The days in which the inhabitants of those houses would have had mews were past, however, and now it was a shadowy, partially covered passage, humid and uninviting, though less noisome than might have been imagined. In its walls were set the doors to the master houses on Percy Street and Stephen Street. Armstrong proceeded in the dim light of an early winter evening, relying on memory and touch to find the right door. 

Behind these doors, as he had discovered on his first visits, lay small yards, and the rear  access to a house. Each house’s façade was a small shop; a dressmaker, a saddler, a book- binder, a gallery, an apothecary. Nothing very fashionable, this was not such a district, but all perfectly respectable in appearance  –  unless you knew otherwise, and had access to the rear or  upper rooms of each house. The dressmaker’s concealed a brothel, with a reputation for  catering to some of the more unusual requirements of its clients. The saddler used his supplies of raw leather for other types of equipment than tackle. The bookbinder and gallery-owner kept some very special examples of their respective crafts well concealed, for the entertainment of a select few customers, and were constantly on the lookout for more such material. All the houses were owned, very discreetly, by a consortium of wealthy aristocrats who constituted, naturally, the core of these establishments’  elite clientele. 

As for the apothecary, he had been the first of this group to be discovered by Armstrong, and was the object of his visit now. Lesage could supply the most devilish concoctions in exchange for the right sum, and the right passwords. Two days ago, Armstrong had followed his quarry to this very shop, and now he was back to get the inside track on whatever was going on here. Armstrong knew the premises well by now; he stealthily made his way to the upper balcony overlooking  Lesage’s laboratory. He knew Lesage would bring his customer in here. 

As he waited, Armstrong wondered if Mr. Dunleavy had had any real inkling of what would emerge as a result of his query. In his letter to Armstrong, he appeared to be more  interested in Dr. Thompkins. His request for a similar background check on Dr. Gardner had seemed off-hand, almost an afterthought. Thompkins had been an easy task. He was, as far as Armstrong could discern, as transparent as glass, no more and no less than what he appeared to be. Armstrong’s  report was already written and ready for  the post. Gardner, on the other hand, had turned out to be a very different matter indeed, and Armstrong had begun to tail him after only a couple of days. However, all his instincts had gone on alert when, after following him to a Southwark tavern  –  a place that could only be defined as being at the limit of respectability  –  he saw Gardner meet, in a secluded corner, with none other than Lionel Luthor.

The place had been busy and noisy. Getting close without being noticed was difficult, and overhearing anything was even more so. Armstrong had caught only snippets, from which  he had to piece together a full picture, but it had been enough to put the investigator’s hackles  on edge. Luthor was clearly angry, Gardner defensive. Someone, a patient of Gardner’s,  was  making a better recovery than expected, certainly better than Gardner had predicted, and  Luthor was extremely displeased about it. Luthor had made some references to Gardner’s  father, in the sense that Gardner was not the man his father had been  –  which only made Armstrong, knowing what he did about Gardner, strain harder to hear  –  and had then produced a little white card which looked all too familiar. 

Armstrong had vanished from the pub immediately, but only to stick even more closely to Gardner thereafter. The coincidences were too many. He knew his principal patron, Rutherford, was very ill, as everyone did. That Rutherford’s  half-brother  should be asking him to look  into Gardner’s background, and that Luthor senior was clandestinely  meeting with the doctor, and furnishing him with access to an apothecary of extremely dubious reputation were just too many pieces in a jigsaw puzzle that was forming into a picture of which he did not, at all, like the appearance. 

So here he was, and there, below him, were Lesage and Gardner entering the apothe cary’s laboratory. 

“You stressed the need for discretion,” the apothecary was saying. “It can be done, of  course, but you will need to follow instructions very carefully, and it will take two to three weeks yet. You know,  _docteur_ ,”  he added, with a sardonic note in his voice, “your father would not have needed my assistance in such a matter.” 

“Times have changed,” Gardner said stiffly. “We’re not so prone to poisoning here in England.” 

Lesage  made a scornful noise. “You are no more English than I am.” 

“I was brought up here. I don’t know anything else.” 

“Hmph. That is as may be. However, if you think that the English do not poison, you  underestimate  _les p’tites mesdames._ As always, where there is a husband who is too importu nate or lingering too long, they like the quick solution. However, maybe you should stick to your practice of ridding them of the other type of unwanted burden; it is probably safer for you. I have understood that  this is an unusual and exceptional circumstance.”

Gardner looked sullen, but nodded. Lesage merely smiled coolly, the expression never touching his dark eyes, and turned to a cabinet to the left. He withdrew a slim, felt-lined drawer, on the bed of which lay ten little white packets of folded, waxed paper. 

“Five ounces,” he said, putting the drawer on the workbench. “It will be enough, maybe  even less. You need to give the patient one dose on the first morning. If his symptoms are slight, then repeat the next morning. If they are violent, wait a day, and then repeat. Judge it carefully. The more violent the symptoms, the less you will have to give. Do not exaggerate the dose; that will only make his illness look suspicious. However, if you are careful, it will appear that his recovery was merely a temporary matter. The more violent his reactions, the less you will have to give him. Only you can tell, but if he starts to vomit blood, then do not fear, the internal damage will be such as to finish  him off.” 

Fascinated, Gardner reached out as if to touch the little packets, but Lesage quickly slapped his hand aside. 

“Ah! Never,  never  touch the doses with the bare skin. Tongs or tweezers, or handle with chicken-skin gloves, preferably both, in fact. They may be boiled thereafter in a solution of bicarbonate of soda, and reused. Otherwise, use gloves, but they must be burned after. Never touch directly;  this substance may be absorbed through the skin.” 

As if to illustrate his point, he turned towards a small stove, which was burning, and had a large bowl of water simmering faintly on it. Lesage took a jar from a shelf, and poured a liberal quantity of a fine white powder into it, which he stirred in until quite dissolved. Then he worked his bony hands into the fine sheath of a pair of chicken-skin gloves, picked up a large manila envelope in one hand, and a pair of small tongs in the other, and proceeded to transfer the ten little parcels, one by one, into the envelope. When he was done, he dropped the tongs into the bowl of water. His hands still gloved, he thrust a wax stick into the heat of the burner, and sealed the envelope, then put it down on a clear area of the workbench, and peeled off the gloves to drop them, too, into the water. 

“When you pour the powder into his drink, take care not to inhale until it is well mixed in, and burn the paper immediately,” he added matter-of-factly. 

“You’re sure I won’t need more,” Gardner asked nervously, taking the sealed envelope  gingerly from the chemist. 

“Quite sure. Do not be too hasty to ask for this substance again. I have a little more just  now, but only three or four doses, and it takes some considerable time to prepare properly.  Two to three months.” 

“I don’t expect to be using it again,” Gardner muttered.

“You never know,  docteur,”  Lesage said mockingly. “My fee, if you please?” 

Gardner produced a pouch from his pocket, and handed it to Lesage, at the same time tucking the envelope away. 

Armstrong had seen enough. He knew Gardner had a place booked on the coach that very evening; he needed to be in position quickly if he was to do any good. He left the house as silently and stealthily as he had entered it. In Oxford Street, a regular accomplice of his responded to his signal, and he issued precise instructions, then he raced for another address, fortunately nearby, where he picked up a manila envelope he judged approximately the size and quality of the one Lesage had given Gardner. He stuffed it lightly with two or three sheets of paper, enough to make up about five ounces, sealed it roughly, and headed back to Oxford Street. There, his informant confirmed the direction in which Gardner had gone, and Armstrong sped after his quarry, very determined. 

Gardner went to his own home to pick up his bag, and give instructions about forwarding his portmanteau, then took a cab to the posting inn, where he would pick up his coach. The inn was very busy. The night fares were cheapest, naturally, and the stage was always busy then, frequently with a great many undesirable characters, so he was on his guard. This did not mean that he was not jostled regularly by riff-raff of various sorts, but each time, he checked his pocket book, and the envelope, and they were still there, so he embarked on the stage in a reasonably confident frame of mind. He would have to make an overnight stop somewhere near Saughton, but he would still be at Rutherford Park in about forty hours. 

Armstrong watched the coach leave with a sly smile touching his thin lips, and his hand slid to his own inside pocket to touch fleetingly a large, manila envelope. Gardner would not  discover until his first night’s halt that he had not only lost the manila envelope, but had been  robbed of just enough money to make it difficult for him to purchase an immediate return to London. Then, of course, he would have to go back to Lesage for more of the mysterious little packets, and Lesage had said that he did not have another full course. Armstrong reckoned that he had set Gardner back by at least six days, which gave him plenty of time to get to Rutherford Park in person, and get further instructions. 

Although Lex’s lucid periods were still brief, the impression that he was recovering was  undeniable. It was hard to say why; perhaps his colour had improved, perhaps, when he was awake, he was much clearer than before, perhaps it was because he had progressed quickly, within a few days, from pure liquids to nourishing broths (though still nothing too heavy)  without any apparent discomfort. At any rate, the mood in the household was very positive. Clark spent just as much time at his bedside as before, but now, as well as reading from new books, and from gazettes and newspapers, he shared news about the household, how the children were doing, and what they would all be able to do when Lex was well enough to leave his sick-bed.  He sat very close to the bed, usually holding one of Lex’s hands, and sometimes  almost stroking the silk-smooth bald pate, fascinated by Lex’s  appearance. He did not know  how to say it out loud. When he said it to himself, in his own room, late at night, it sounded so feeble and foolish, but he found Lex beautiful, now even more so than before. He said none of it to Lex, however, awake or otherwise, merely read, or gossiped mildly, and offered words of reassurance, as if to coax him back to life and consciousness.

They were, nevertheless, all a little nervous in the house now. They had taken a conscious decision to inform neither Dr. Gardner,  nor Lionel Luthor of the change in Lex’s status.  Chloe was convinced that both would get to hear of it soon enough and it was like waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering which would show up first, and how quickly. So when a servant knocked at the door to inform Clark that Mrs. Dunleavy wished to see him, he was sure this was it  –  that one of them was here and that, as Lucas had ridden into Tannisford that morning, Chloe was seeking the support of the only other male in the household. Clark rang for  Raffaele, and instructed him to stay with Lex until Clark returned, and then headed for Chloe’s  morning room. 

To his surprise, however, the man in the room with her was neither the doctor, nor the duke, but a rather insignificant-looking fellow of moderate stature. Clark did not think he had ever met this man before, although, frankly, he suspected that if he had, he would hardly have remembered, so inconspicuous he seemed. 

“Oh, good, here you are,” Chloe said briskly. “I’ve had the deuce of a  time trying to  convince Mr. Armstrong here that he can give his news as well to me as to Lucas, and it’s obviously important. He’s come post-haste  from London. However, he was being very obstinate, until I mentioned your name, and suddenly nothing would do but that he see you. Well, Mr. Armstrong,  this is Mr. Kent. Is this whom you expected?” 

Armstrong was looking at him with bright, inquisitive eyes, and he nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I recognise Mr. Kent all right.” 

Clark gave him a curious glance. “Have we met, Mr. Armstrong?” 

“No, sir, but I’ve worked for Lord Rutherford for several years now. You might say I’m his eyes and ears in places where a gentleman can’t normally be seen. I know it’s been a while,  but I hope there were no  –  unpleasant sequels to that nasty little business with the maca roons.” 

Clark turned scarlet. “The –  the macaroons? You  –  you were the one who found out what  – what had happened?” 

Chloe glanced at him, a little concerned. It had taken her two or three years of persuasion to get Clark to talk (or rather, write) about the events leading up to the death of Sebastian Veryan. What he had told her had shed more light than even he perhaps realised on several matters, particularly  Lex’s subsequent actions, but although she  knew he had put the incident behind him, it was still a painful memory, and she hoped Armstrong was not inclined to reminisce too much on the matter.

“Bless you, sir, no,” Armstrong was saying cheerfully, “I just found out  how  it happened. His lordship had it all worked out before even calling me in on the case. However, I got him the  proof he needed.” 

“Is – is there a connection to the present matter?” Clark asked. 

“Only very indirectly. I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about, sir, your  name  hasn’t come up at all in the last couple of weeks. Let’s say, for the moment, that certain, ah, actors are the same, however.” 

“Well, Mr. Armstrong, if you are willing to talk in front of Clark, please be seated, and let  us hear what you have to  say,” Chloe said. 

“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” he said, a little amused by this slightly imperious young woman, but careful to hide it. He took one of the Italian embroidery chairs opposite Chloe’s chaise longue, while Clark sat at Chloe’s feet. 

“To begin  at the beginning, Mr. Dunleavy wrote to me asking me to look into the back ground of a certain Dr. Thompkins.” 

Clark started, and then shot a faintly accusing glance at Chloe. She had the good grace to colour a little, and nodded. 

“Yes, I knew he was  going to do that. Be reasonable, Clark, it made sense. Even you  don’t actually know much about this person, you were going by hearsay.” 

“I suppose so,” he acknowledged reluctantly. 

“Well, the good news,” Armstrong continued, “is that Dr. Thompkins  is as pure as the driven snow. I found absolutely nobody with a word to say against him, and nothing amiss in  his running of either his practice or his household. I have a written report right here.” He  pulled out a small envelope, and set it on the little  table beside his chair. “That’s not the point.  In his letter, Mr. Dunleavy also instructed me to look into the affairs of a Dr. Ian Gardner, which  I duly did, and that turned out to be a completely different matter.” 

He unfolded to them the events of the previous days, watching as their eyes widened in  shock and horror. When he was done, he drew out the apothecary’s manila envelope, and set  it down, too.

“Do you know what that is?” Chloe asked, pointing at the envelope. 

“No, ma’am. I thought  it best to get to you first. I can take it back to get it analysed, if  you wish, though.” 

“I’ll see to that,” Clark said quietly. “I can have results by tomorrow afternoon. You think Gardner won’t make it to Tannisford before mid-week.” 

Armstrong nodded.  “At a guess. He’ll be back in London late tomorrow afternoon, but it’ll be Saturday. He can’t get to Lesage until Monday. Even if he just leaves an order for a full set of ten doses, rather than taking whatever Lesage has left, he can’t possibly  get here before  Wednesday morning.” 

“Do you think he’ll bring what he can, rather than wait?” Chloe asked. 

“Depends what he’s more afraid of, ma’am. Being discovered, if he fails because he hasn’t got enough of the stuff, or His Grace’s wrath. Off the cuff, I’d be inclined to say the  latter.” 

Chloe put her hands to her mouth and closed her eyes for a moment, too appalled for words. She recovered quickly, though, and said to Clark. 

“Please write to Dr. Thompkins and get him here as quickly as possible, Clark. We can’t  let Gardner back into the house. I just wish....  I don’t understand the connections between all these people,” she said, a little frustratedly. “I wish I did.” 

“I’ve got my own theories, if you’re interested,” Armstrong offered  helpfully. She made  an encouraging sign, and he went on. “See, your Dr. Gardner was actually born Yann Garnier, in  Paris, in 1788. His father was a doctor, too, a Norman who moved to the capital, and rendered certain types of services to certain very important people, which set him up nicely in his busi ness. It looks like he saw which way the wind was blowing, because right at the start of ’89, he  and all his little family were on a boat to England, armed with letters of recommendation, for the attention of one very specific personage. Richard Barry, 7th Earl of Barrymore  –  better  known to most of us as Hellgate.” 

Chloe gave a shudder of disgust. “Well, if I’d had any doubt, that’s  enough to tell me exactly what kind of a doctor  he  was.” 

“Precisely, ma’am. The long and the short of it is that Dr. Garnier senior more or less became Lord Barrymore’s doctor-in-residence,  of special service to the various members of the  Earl’s more, ah,  particular  clubs. Of course, he couldn’t stop his lordship from  killing himself in  a shooting accident, and the more extreme of these clubs were dissolved pretty shortly thereaf ter.”

Chloe made a scornful noise. “Only because Prinny finally realised what a disgrace the  whole affair was, and renounced the connection.” 

Armstrong smiled approvingly. He rather liked this outspoken little thing. “I see you’re well informed, ma’am. Anyway, although Lord Barrymore’s clubs were gone, the clients, so to  speak, remained, starting with the new Earl, of course. Garnier senior was certainly never out of work, and was earning enough to send his boy to a good school, then to Edinburgh for his  medical training. By the by, did you know His Grace used to be a member of the Barrys’ inner circle?” he slipped in slyly. 

The shocked reaction of both young people was all he could have hoped for. 

“Lanchester?” they chorused. 

Armstrong nodded. “Quite chummy with the family, he was. Of course, we all sow our wild oats....” 

“Wild oats, my....!” 

“Chloe!” Clark tried to cut her  off before she said something too unladylike, but he was a little late, and she was fairly launched. 

“Of all the hypocritical, double-dealing,  fork-tongued, two-faced, lubricious, perverted, scoundrelly, invidious, low-down, stomach-turning, poisonous, scheming, verminous, unscrupulous, double-dealing....” 

Clark had tried once or twice more to interrupt her tirade, without success. This time,  when she took a short breath, he jumped in, saying, “You’re repeating yourself.” 

She glared at him, but he just gave her a chiding look. 

“Calm down, Chloe, that much excitement can’t be good for you. We get the point.” 

“Now that’s what I call a woman who speaks her mind,” Armstrong remarked to Clark, a  note of frank admiration in his voice. 

“Um, yes, well – I think that’s something that’s been on the boil for a while,” Clark  replied, a little embarrassed. 

“Oh, don’t talk about me as if I wasn’t here!” Chloe snapped. “I’m perfectly entitled to  be furious with that, that, that  serpent!  So that’s the connection?  Barrymore? What about this  apothecary,  Lesage? Where does he fit in?”

“He’s another  émigré  Frenchman, ma’am. His situation was pretty similar to Garnier senior’s,” Armstrong responded promptly. “It’s quite likely they knew each other even before coming to this country.” 

Chloe sighed, her temper dissipated. “Well, it makes more sense now, I suppose, in a  perverse sort of manner. Thank you for this information, Mr. Armstrong. I have to say, though, that apart from keeping Gardner away from  Lex, I don’t really know what else we can do at the moment.” 

“We also need to keep Lanchester out of the house,” Clark said quietly, “and that’s  going to be much harder. Mr. Armstrong, can you supply proof of any connection between Lanchester, Gardner  and Lesage, in any direction?” 

Armstrong gave him a sceptical look. “Perhaps some, sir, but nothing that would stand up to the weight of His Grace’s finances and connections being thrown against it.” 

“Perhaps not, but maybe enough to make it potentially  embarrassing for Lanchester to  insist too hard on certain points? Like visiting Lex again before he’s fully recovered.” 

“You seem pretty sure his lordship  is  going to recover, sir.” 

“I’m quite certain of it,” Clark said, with that calm certainty that  could be so persuasive. 

Chloe smiled, reached out, and patted Clark’s arm lightly. “He can be very comforting to have around,” she remarked  airily, to no one in particular. 

Clark blushed, as she had known he would, and ducked his head bashfully. 

“Well,” Armstrong said thoughtfully, “it’s not a bad idea, if you think he’s not  that  determined.” 

“We had come to the conclusion that it was more a matter of convenience, of good  timing  –  from his point of view, that is  –  than anything else. Of course,  what you’ve just told us seems to contradict that. However, on reflection, I wonder if it wasn’t a moment of,  well, petulance. Mr. Kent is quite right; most of us do now believe that Lord Rutherford will make a full recovery. Certainly, he is alive well past the date Dr. Gardner suggested for him. His Grace is, perhaps, occasionally prone to movements of temper, despite himself, and he must have felt thwarted. It is not a mistake he would make twice very readily, and I think if we make it difficult and  awkward enough, Lanchester will back off.” 

“Very well, I’ll see what I can do. Of course, I’m  an eyewitness to the Southwark meeting, but you see what I mean, ma’am? It’d be my word against his. I’d be very surprised if  there’s anyone who was drinking in that inn that day who’d remember anything, and if they  did, His Grace can throw around the kind of money that any of that lot would cheerfully sell their grannies for. If you were really  looking for evidence, I’d say we should lean on Gardner.  He  doesn’t seem very staunch to me, but that’s a card best left ‘til last.”

Clark nodded. “I agree. In fact, there’s been no crime.” 

“No, that’s true.” Chloe sounded almost disappointed. “We’re just looking for a little  leverage.” 

“Like I said,” Armstrong said, “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“There’s something else you might be able to do for us, if you can spare the time,” Clark went on. “We’re convinced that there is at least one servant, and possibly more, in Lanchester’s pay in this household, keeping him informed in detail. We didn’t tell Gardner that Lex had  awoken, yet clearly both he and Lanchester knew all about it, and very promptly. If you stayed here for a few days, do you think you could flush out the person or persons concerned? I think  we’d all feel a lot better if we knew the house was clear of spies.” 

Armstrong almost rubbed his hands with glee. “Now that, Mr. Kent, is precisely the sort of job I do best. You’ve asked the right man. By the time Gardner gets here next week, I can  practically guarantee  I’ll be able to finger your spies.” 

“Good idea, Clark,” Chloe said approvingly. “You’re quite right, if we can cut off Lionel’s sources of information, too, then everything should go a good deal more smoothly.” She  reached out and  rang the bell. “I’ll get Mitchell to organise accommodation for you, Mr.  Armstrong. My husband should be back this afternoon; you can go through everything with  him then.” 

Clark stood, and picked up the manila envelope. “I’m going to write that letter  for Dr.  Thompkins. I’ll take it directly to the post office, and then go on to see about getting this  analysed.” 

Chloe frowned briefly. “I thought your chemist friend was in Oxford. How can you  possibly make it back for tomorrow  afternoon?” 

“Oh – no, um, he’s, uh, I don’t have to go as far as Oxford now,” Clark said, flustered.  He knew he was an abysmally poor liar. However, Chloe was clearly a little distracted and seemed to accept his statement. He was thankful when she merely nodded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	6. In Which There Is Confirmation And Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce Wayne has a tale to tell, and true recovery begins for Lex.

When Bruce opened the door to him that night, he gave Clark a speaking look, and stepped aside to let him in. 

“Maybe I should just move to Tannisford,” he suggested sardonically, but took pity on  Clark when he coloured a little, and merely added  mildly, “What have you got for me this time?” 

Clark produced the manila envelope. “Don’t joke, Bruce. This time, I think it’s really serious. You’re not to handle the contents without protecting your skin.” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but took the envelope and went through to his laboratory. He set out a work tray, and arranged various chemicals, test tubes and tools before him. Then he pulled on a pair of whisper-fine silk gloves, and tipped the contents of the envelope out onto the tray. He prodded at the little squares of waxed paper with a set of tongs. 

“Standard apothecary’s  half-ounce doses. How many people have handled this, do you  know?” 

“The outer envelope’s been through at least  four  sets of hands, including mine. I didn’t  open it, and  I doubt the person who brought it to me did, either, though he’d seen the con tents. As far as I know, only the apothecary who prepared  them has handled them.” 

Bruce nodded. He put all but one of the squares back in the envelope, and put it aside, before delicately opening up the one packet remaining. It contained about a teaspoonful of a white powder. Quickly, he folded it up again. 

“Clark, in that drawer over there,” he pointed to the left, “you’ll find several sets of  surgical masks. Would you  mind getting one for me and tying it on? I’ve started handling this  stuff;  I don’t want to risk transferring it to anything outside the work area. Take one for yourself, too. The powder is very fine; the slightest breeze could disturb it. Do you know how it was  supposed to be delivered?” 

“Dissolved  in  liquid, I think,” Clark answered. He found the white linen masks easily, and  did as Bruce had asked. 

Bruce had prepared several test tubes with different substances, and once the mask was on, and Clark had moved away again, he reopened the packet, and began putting tiny amounts of the white powder into each test-tube. Clark watched in silence as Bruce shook this one, added another substance to that one, yet another to a third, and so on. When the contents of  the sixth tube suddenly turned a deep yellowish-brown, he stopped, as if petrified. He took up a fresh tube, and with the remains of the powder, repeated the process he had applied to the sixth tube, with identical results.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, a little hoarsely. 

“What is it?” 

“Sublimate of arsenic. One of the most effective and insidious poisons known to man.” 

Clark paled. “The apothecary’s name is Lesage, he has an establishment on Stephen Street, in London.” 

Bruce looked  up sharply. “Lesage? You’re sure?” 

“Yes. Why? The name has some significance to you?” 

“After a fashion. I need to clean things up here, and destroy the rest of this vile stuff. It’s going to take a while to get enough hot water, why don’t you....” 

Clark interrupted. “I can boil water for you hotter and more rapidly than any fire you could possibly produce,” he said calmly. “Let me help, things will go faster.” 

Bruce looked at him, and smiled faintly. “Your versatility constantly surprises  me. Get  yourself a pair of gloves, in the drawer next to the masks.” 

Half an hour later, they were seated in Bruce’s drawing room, and he was pouring  brandy for them both. 

“I know what arsenic is,” Clark said, “but it’s not exactly difficult to get  a hold of. Dr.  Gardner appeared to have gone to a good deal of trouble to obtain that stuff, however.” 

“Yes, arsenic is often used in tiny quantities in medicines and cosmetics. The human body contains a certain amount of arsenic naturally, so it’s  possible to ingest it in small doses  without harm. There’s a certain school of thought, regarding cosmetics, that claims that it  whitens the skin, strengthens  nails and adds lustre to the hair, though I’m not too sure about  the validity of such claims. However,  that stuff wasn’t merely arsenic. A sublimate is any  substance that has been dissolved in a liquid and reduced to a vapour, which is captured and then condensed until solid again. It thereby becomes a concentrate, many times stronger than the original. Treat arsenic in this fashion, and depending on the liquid used in the distillation, you end up with a lethal poison which, applied correctly, leaves little trace in the body that  cannot be imputed to the normal presence of arsenic in the system.” 

“So, who is Lesage?” 

“Have you ever heard of  _l’affaire des poisons_?”  Clark shook his head. “No,  history never was your favourite subject. You may at least  remember that Charles II’s sister Henrietta was  married to the brother of Louis XIV of France?” 

“Yes.” 

“She died, rather unexpectedly, in 1670, and at the time there was a lot of talk of  poison, to the point that Louis eventually ordered a special commission  –  the  _Chambre ardente_ – on the matter. Although it’s reasonably certain that Henrietta  was not, in fact, poisoned, the investigators, led by one La Reynie, head of the Paris police at the time, finally uncovered a  veritable scorpion’s nest of illicit drug and poison dealers. It was an enormous scandal, because  it touched the very highest ranks. In the end, Louis had the whole business quashed; it was reaching too high, right to his very side, in fact. It was whispered that the Marquise de Montespan, who was his chief mistress at the time, had resorted to these poisoners in order to dispose  of Mademoiselle de Fontanges, who was turning into a dangerous rival for Louis’  affections. 

“Added to that, there was a great deal of nonsense about Satanic Masses, and spells to retain the king’s affection, which only served to increase the hysteria.  The whole business lasted fifteen years. At the heart of it was this unknown poison, said to come from Italy, which was being supplied by members of a secret society, usually to women, in order to dispose of unwanted family, rivals, spouses, and so on. The Marquise de Brinvilliers, for example, murdered her father and two brothers, and was said to have initially practiced the art of poisoning  on the inmates of poorhouses and lazarets, before being caught and executed.” 

“Charming woman,” Clark murmured  faintly. 

“Through the interrogation of de Brinvilliers and her lover, not to mention various other parties” Bruce went on, “La Reynie was led to a woman called Catherine Montvoisin, known to  most of her acquaintances as La Voisin, who was one of the primary suppliers of the poison.  One of La Voisin’s closest accomplices was an alchemist and magician named Lesage.” 

Clark just stared at him for a long moment. “You can’t mean...” he said finally, then  faltering, at a loss for words. 

“I don’t know. It’s been a hundred and fifty years. However, I don’t believe in coincidences, as you well know.” 

Clark told him all the rest of Armstrong’s report, about Gardner’s origins and connec tions. When he was done, Bruce nodded slowly. 

“I  definitely  don’t believe in coincidences,” he said dryly. 

“No – though it’s a pretty fantastic idea, that we should be dealing with the great-great-grandson of the most notorious poisoner of France.”

“Well, no, I think that title probably belongs to Catherine de’ Medici.” 

“She doesn’t count, she was Italian,” Clark shot back, grinning. Bruce’s sense of humour  was a little strange, but he appreciated the effort to lighten the mood a little. 

“Well, thank you, Bruce, as always, for your assistance.” 

“You’re welcome. What are you going to do now?” 

“With Gardner? Keep him locked out of the house. I’ve written to Dr. Thompkins, as you suggested.” 

“Actually, I meant right now. Tonight. You can’t go straight back to Rutherford Park.” 

“Oh! No, I said I’d be back tomorrow afternoon. I know, even that’s a little quick, but I think they’re used to the idea that I travel fast and light when I want to. Still, you’re right, I’ve a few hours to kill.” He smiled mischievously. “I thought I might do a little evangelising.” 

Bruce stared. “Evangel –  ? Oh, I see. Persuading highwaymen to see the error of their  ways?” 

“Something like that. It would help me work off some of my frustration, too. I can always imagine it’s Gardner, or Lanchester.” 

Bruce looked amused. “Well, if you’re in the mood for that kind of game, I have a  suggestion.  Here,” he tossed Clark a newspaper, “read that. Second column.” 

Clark perused the article cursorily, which complained indignantly about the gang of bandits that was currently terrorising the Bath-London road, and in the face of which the local magistrates seemed powerless. He looked at Bruce, tilting his head a little. 

“I don’t suppose you have information regarding the whereabouts of these miscreants?”  he asked casually. 

“The _Ox and Plough_ , outside High Wycombe,” Bruce replied promptly.  


Clark laughed. “You’re amazing, you know that? You know  everything.”  


“I try.”  


“Modest with it,” he teased, then sobered. “Seriously, though, if this sort of thing  comes up again  –  I mean  a problem the authorities don’t seem to be able to deal with –  and  you know where to find them, and think it’s important enough, just write to me, and I’ll see to it.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Bruce assured him. 

Things moved swiftly after that. By the following Monday, Armstrong had identified  three servants as being in Lanchester’s pay; a housemaid, a foot-servant,  and the second coachman. They were dismissed, and replaced readily enough by persons in whom Mitchell and Mrs. Jenkins had confidence, and Armstrong returned to London. 

Dr. Gardner showed up on Wednesday, as predicted, and was barred entry to the house, first by Mitchell, and when he protested vigorously, by Lucas and Clark. After much argument, he left, though only once Lucas had threatened him with forcible eviction. Dr. Thompkins made his appearance the following day. Despite a slightly caustic demeanour, he quickly endeared himself to the household by his robust good sense. Clark found himself reassuringly reminded of his own grandfather. 

Lionel Luthor arrived at the weekend. Lex’s three guardians had agreed that Lionel  should be allowed to see Lex, for there was really no mistaking the fact that Lex was on the mend now. However, he was not to be left alone with him, no matter what, and after that, Lucas was to request him not to return to the Park until expressly invited by Lex. 

When Lionel was shown into Lex’s room, his first surprise was Dr. Thompkins; the  second was Clark. Clark, Lionel and the doctor looked at each other,  en chiens de faïence,  as Clark put it to Chloe later, until Clark cleared his throat discreetly. 

“Good morning, Your Grace.” 

“Mr. Kent,” Lionel acknowledged him curtly, as was his wont. “Pray tell, who is this  gentleman?” 

“This is Lex’s new  doctor, sir, Dr. Leslie Thompkins. Dr. Thompkins, may I introduce you  to His Grace the Duke of Lanchester, Lord Rutherford’s father.” 

Thompkins’ expression cleared, and he bowed civilly. “An honour, Your Grace. You’ll be glad to know that I’m very happy with Lord Rutherford’s progress. That fool Gardner was  practically starving him, but both mind and body need nourishment in order to mend. I admit I  can’t explain any better than my predecessors the cause of his ailment, but now that he’s  turned the  corner on his own, I’m confident we’ll have him on his feet very soon.” 

“I wasn’t aware that Dr. Gardner had been replaced,” Lionel said coolly, and embarked on a detailed interrogation of Thompkins’s credentials. However, as these were impeccable –  as Armstrong had already established  –  he was forced to concede. He moved to the bow window, with a little gesture to Clark to join him.

“Why was Dr. Gardner replaced, Mr. Kent?” he asked quietly. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Mr. Dunleavy for the details, sir. However, we’re all pretty happy with Dr. Thompkins,” he said brightly. 

Lionel gave him a narrow-eyed look, but the doctor interrupted anything he might have said. 

“Your Grace? His lordship is waking. You might be able to speak with him for a  short  while.” 

Lionel moved to the bedside, where Thompkins was helping Lex to sit up a little further against his pillows. 

“Alexander?” 

Slowly, the pale eyes lifted to his face. Lex was gaunt, and looked inexpressibly weary, but his gaze was clear and sharp. 

“Father.” 

“How are you feeling?” 

The thin mouth twitched in slight amusement. “Like death warmed over. However, I’m told that’s an improvement.” 

“Alexander, did you realise that your entourage has changed your doctor?”  Lex nodded slightly.  


“What was wrong with Gardner?”  


He frowned faintly. “Gardner? You mean Foster. Retired. Overworked.”  Lionel drew back, perplexed, but Clark touched his elbow lightly. 

“Sir? Remember that when Dr. Gardner was engaged, your son was already  three parts comatose.  It’s very unlikely he’d remember Gardner at all. He can barely have been aware of his presence,” Clark explained, in an undertone. 

Much as he disliked admitting it, Kent clearly had a point and Lionel was obliged to recognise the sense of his reminder. He turned back to Lex. 

“How are you getting on with Dr. Thompkins, then?” 

Another flicker of a smile touched his lips. “I’ve known worse. Won’t let me eat solids, but at least the slop I’m getting has some taste. No boiled chicken stock without seasoning.” 

“You’ll get solids as soon as I think your digestion’s up to it, my lord,” Thompkins said briskly. “First things first. I’ll say this for your Mrs. Jenkins, she’s an inventive woman. I’ve  heard her and the cook discussing  your meals. I’ve no doubt you’ll find your convalescence a good deal more pleasant than it might be in other households.” 

Lex’s faint smile turned a little sly. “She’s been a widow for a good many years, you  know, doctor, and the children are grown  and settled,” he said suggestively. 

Thompkins coloured a little, and shot him a reproving look. “That’s enough nonsense from you, sir. Time for your medicine.” 

Lex pulled a face. “Why must medicines always taste so vile?” 

“So that the patient thinks twice about getting sick again,” he returned promptly. 

There was a faint sound from Lex that might have been a laugh, but he drank obediently from the glass Thompkins held to his lips. 

“You see, sir?” Clark said softly to Lionel. “He’s weak, still, and tires easily, but he’s definitely improving.” 

Lionel stared at him, then smiled unpleasantly. “Then your job is done, is it not?” 

There was a long silence as the two men stared at each other, but it was Lex who broke it. 

“Clark?” he called. “Are you still here?” 

“Yes, of course,” Clark reassured him, quickly moving to his side. “What is it?” 

Lex wore a faint frown. “Did you tell me yesterday that Liverpool had had a stroke?”  When Clark nodded, he looked half-amused, half-aghast.  “For God’s sake, that’s going to put the cat amongst the pigeons. Where’s the paper?” 

“I’ll go and see if Mitchell has brought today’s batch in yet. I’ll be right back.” At the  door, Clark shot Lionel a quick, triumphant smile.

He did not have far to go; the newspapers had indeed arrived, and were set on the table just outside the door. He did not choose to burden himself with the whole set, but leafed through the pile for _The Times_ , and crossed a tight-lipped Lionel in the doorway as he re- entered Lex’s  room. Thompkins was staring after the departing man with an odd expression. Lex, Clark noted, was looking at his doctor in some amusement. Clark could well imagine what the doctor was thinking, but made no comment, instead gave the paper to Lex, who preferred to read for himself now, unless he was too tired. 

Lex turned his amused glance on Clark. “What’s happening now?” he asked. 

“I imagine Lucas is telling your father to go away. Or words to that effect,” Clark said  honestly. 

There was a snort  from Lex. “I’d give a monkey to be in on  that  conversation!” 

So would Clark, but given how Lanchester’s teeth tended to grind in his presence, he  judged discretion the better part of valour, and kept well out of the way, until the unmistakeable sounds of a carriage moving off down the driveway were heard. 

Lex had dozed off again, so Clark went to Chloe’s morning room to wait for the news.  Chloe, too, was looking rather weary  –  she was very close to term now  –  but was as eager as Clark to hear how Lucas had got on with his father. When he turned up, just a few minutes later, there were tight lines of stress around his eyes, but he was grinning a little fiercely. 

“I don’t think he’ll be back in a hurry,” he said, with satisfaction. “God, that felt  good!  I’ve been longing to wipe that supercilious smirk off his face for  years!” 

“Lucas, what did you say?” Chloe asked, suspiciously. 

“Next to nothing – but I’d remembered seeing something about that poisons affair before. You know Lex’s library, he has all sorts of bizarre stuff in there. Sure enough, there’s a  chemistry section, and a big book on poisons and their antidotes, which includes a hefty chapter on arsenic, a description of the whole case,  and  a lovely, large lithograph of that La Voisin creature, taken from a period drawing. So I lugged the thing down to the study and set it up on the lectern, in plain sight, open at the appropriate page. I tell you, he was drawn to it like a moth to the flame. 

“Then he started badgering me about  Gardner, and why he had been dismissed. I said  that I wasn’t happy about his efficacy, that Lex had grown worse while he was here, and better when he was gone. Finally, I said, I’d had reports from friends in London that he’d been seen in  dubious company  –  in a seedy tavern in Southwark, of all places, I said  –  and that I really thought that was no suitable behaviour  for Lex’s doctor. He said nothing, but talk about a  basilisk glare! After that, I suggested we really couldn’t be doing with a lot of coming  and going, between  Lex’s recovery, and you nearing your time.” He shot his wife a sly grin. “I will say that I think he’s got a bit of a soft spot for you, m’dear.”

Chloe shuddered. “Don’t be obscene!” 

“Well, he was all sympathy for the mother-to-be, and I don’t think it was  entirely  faked. Anyway,  he then suggested, if that was the case, I should get rid of Kent, too. He really doesn’t like you, Kent.” 

“I’ve noticed, thank you.” 

“I squashed that by saying you’d been here for weeks, that both  Lex and the children seemed to enjoy your company,  that you’d been nothing but very helpful, in all sorts of ways,  and that as I was going to be increasingly preoccupied with Chloe, I appreciated you picking up  the slack. I did tell him we’d found Thompkins  through your recommendation. I hope that  wasn’t a mistake.” 

Clark shrugged. “I don’t think it’ll tell him anything in particular. We’ve already established that Dr. Thompkins has an unimpeachable character and record.” 

“True. Well, that was pretty  much that. I had an answer for everything, blocked him at  every turn. He hated every second of it,” Lucas concluded gleefully. 

Chloe smiled at him indulgently. “You did well. The book was a very nice touch,” she  added approvingly. 

“It will be good not to have to worry about Lanchester interfering for a while,” Clark  sighed. 

“Hear, hear!” she agreed wholeheartedly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	7. In Which Plans Are Sketched For The Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark seeks and finds the first keys to restoring more than just Lex's health.

Lex’s health improved rapidly. He had initially been a docile patient –  too docile, from what Clark knew of him  –  but he soon began to show more of his usual temperament, just at  the point when Thompkins, confident of Lex’s recovery, transferred much of his attention to  Chloe in preparation for the delivery of her child. Or rather, children, but although there had been some strong suggestions that it might, indeed, be twins, only Clark knew with absolute certainty. As he could not explain  how  he knew, he was keeping quiet on the subject, at least until somebody else (preferably the doctor) actually voiced a similar opinion. At any rate, there  was no question that Chloe should become the doctor’s priority, but that left Clark somewhat in  the line of fire, as Lex grew increasingly impatient with his confinement. Clark did not care, he was only too happy to see Lex’s  spirit recovering along with his body, but what did worry him  was that he was aware of something cool and hard forming within Lex, like an invisible defensive shell. 

It took him a few days to realise what had to have happened. Lex must have become aware of the outer changes in himself, and was preparing himself for the reactions of shock or pity, or both, that he expected to receive from the outside world. He would have realised that his own household had become too accustomed to the changes to react any more, but others would be a different matter, and he was too proud to tolerate pity readily. There was a touch of vanity in him, Clark knew. It had not been excessive, but it had been a part of his easy self-confidence, and right now it had to be badly bruised. Still, Clark did not like this withdrawal on  Lex’s part. If he needed  this defensive measure in public, that was one thing, but it was not necessary here, in his own home, surrounded only by people who cared for him and respected him. 

The key, Clark thought, lay with the children. Alexandra had been asking with increasing persistence when she would be allowed to see her father. She knew now that he was awake much of the day, and could not understand why she could not go to him. Lex had managed to evade the topic, skilfully up until now, but it was not until Clark had understood his overall reasoning that he had fathomed  this reluctance. Lex was afraid of his children’s reaction to his  changed appearance. The adults in the household were one thing; they had not only had time, they had the self-control to be tactful. From the children, he would get only the truth. Linford, only just past his first birthday, was too young; he would have no real recollection of his father as any way other than he was presently. Alexandra, however, was a different matter, and he feared her rejection. He did not know that Clark had been bringing her periodically to see him while he was still unconscious or asleep. He had nothing to fear from her reaction, but Clark suspected that he would not believe simply being told that. He would have to be thrown in at the deep end. 

Clark waited for a day when Lex was feeling at his best. He had had the energy for a full  bath, his room had been aired out, the linen changed, the potpourri bowls refreshed, and the fire crackled pleasantly. Lex had returned to bed, but was sitting up, reading. Clark could tell that he was feeling relaxed, comfortable and as much at his best as any convalescent ever feels. He gave Lex just enough time to get settled, and popped his head round the door.

“I have a visitor for you,” he announced cheerfully, and without giving Lex the chance to  object, shouldered the door open the rest of the way, and entered. He was carrying Alexandra. 

Lex’s eyes widened as he saw his daughter for the first time in nearly a year. Even from  the door, Clark could sense his reactions; the sudden leap of joy, then the immediate, instinctive recoil to protect himself from the hurt he was sure was to come. 

Alexandra, however, swept all that aside. Seeing her father sitting up, his eyes open and  aware, she gave a shriek of delight, and squirmed violently in Clark’s hold, trying to reach him.  In two steps, he was by the bed, and had placed her on it, and she scrambled up to fling her  arms around Lex’s neck, babbling happily  in an almost incomprehensible mixture of French, English, Russian and German, and planting moist little kisses all over his face. For a few seconds, Lex was frozen, then he closed his arms tightly about her small form, and buried his face in the thick, shining, lavender-scented waves of her auburn hair. 

Clark withdrew discreetly, smiling to himself. Children, these days, were not encouraged to be demonstrative, especially not amongst the upper classes. He knew of a good many families in which the children were wholly turned over to the care of wet-nurses, nannies, governesses and tutors, and barely ever saw their parents until they came out of the school-room at sixteen. It was a practice with which he did not hold; he had never been treated that way himself, nor had any of the Ross children. However, he knew from Lex, Lucas and Mrs. Jenkins that things had been rather different in the Luthor household. Lucas had been systematically ignored, while Lex had been paraded on occasion, but otherwise left to the care of tutors. 

Meeting Alexandra, Clark had realised this was not a child who had been discouraged in any way from expressing herself, and he guessed that Lex was trying hard not to repeat his own  father’s mistakes.  Chloe had told him that Lex adored his daughter; Clark had spent more than enough time with the little girl to know the feeling was reciprocated. He had hoped that her outspoken character would permit her to break through any defensive reserves Lex had been building up. Seeing them together now, he allowed himself a little congratulatory pat on the back, metaphorically speaking  –  he had been right. 

He slipped away quietly, and returned about ten minutes later with Linford. Alexandra  was now sitting tucked against Lex’s side, still prattling on happily. There was much to tell him,  after all, though at least now she was doing so in a more recognisable combination of French and English only. Linford hardly knew his father, and when Clark put him on the bed, he looked up at this strange adult with considerable curiosity. However, he adored his big sister, and as she was clearly very comfortable where she was, Linford decided the stranger had to have  some merit. He smiled his usual, sunny smile up at his father, and crawled up the bed to share in the cuddles that were so clearly being offered. Alexandra good-naturedly accepted that Lex remove one arm from around her to wrap it around Linford and draw him close, too.

“ _Il_ _est un peu bête_ ,”  Alexandra informed her father sincerely, “ _mais_ _assez mignon_.” (10) 

Lex chuckled. It was a rusty sound, unused. “You were just the same at his age.” 

She looked indignant. “I  am perfect!”  she announced firmly.  


He laughed again, and resettled the baby so that he could hold both of them. 

Clark withdrew discreetly to the window seat, as Alexandra chattered on, this time regaling  her father with her brother’s exploits and mishaps. Sometimes Lex had questions, but  for the most part, he was silent, basking in the warmth and innocent blather of his children. It was with considerable reluctance that he gave them up to their nurse at lunchtime. 

“How did you know?” Lex asked Clark quietly, when the room was still again. 

“Know what?”  


“That I was afraid of meeting my own children?” 

Clark shrugged. “I can’t answer that. I just knew. You were building up defences. It took me a little while to work it out, but then I understood. I still do. I’m not saying you shouldn’t,  but there are certain people who have a right to be inside those defences, not locked  outside, and you weren’t making any distinction between those and the others.” 

Raffaele showed up with lunch, and a folding table was dressed before the fireplace. Since Lex had been getting up more frequently, and allowed to eat more normally, Clark had taken to sharing lunch with him in his room. It had been a little awkward at first, but gradually the quicksilver connection that had bound them from the start was being restored, although by common accord they never spoke of the past and very little of the years since they had last seen each other. That, Clark hoped, was only a temporary state of affairs. Lex needed time to recover, but Clark had become deeply implicated  in Lex’s affairs without Lex’s consent, or even  his knowledge, and that might take some explaining, if Lex could not accept that it was simply because, for Clark, nothing had changed, despite the passage of time. 

When the servants had left, they sat down to lunch. 

“You know,” Lex said, “I feel a little guilty. I seem to be monopolising your time. If Chloe’s confinement is following the usual procedures, I’m sure Lucas has been pretty well  banned from her rooms by now. He must be rattling around this place like a solitary pea in a  pod.”

“I see him at dinner time. To be perfectly honest, that’s quite enough. He’s driving me  crazy, and if I have to spend too much more time in his company, I will probably end up throt tling him! You’d think  he  was  the one having the baby!” 

“I see.” Lex smiled faintly. “I’m afraid it’s pretty much par for the course with expectant fathers. I was sort of excitable myself, at a similar juncture.” 

“I’ll take your word for it, but it’s still very trying on the rest of us.” 

“How is Chloe doing, anyway?” 

“Very well, by all accounts. She’s about as impatient as you are at being confined now, but Dr. Thompkins is saying there’s a distinct possibly that it’s going to be twins, so he wants  her resting as much as  possible in the last few days or weeks.” 

“Twins, eh? That must come from her side of the family, or else the Dunleavys’. There have been none in ours that I can recall.” 

“She’s not talking to me.” Clark chuckled. “When I arrived here, and saw her for  the first time in years, we sort of joked about her carrying twins, because she looked so large. At the time, she said she hoped so, because she thought twins would be a better return for all her trouble, if you like. I made the mistake of reminding her of that a couple of days ago. She  called me a few names that really don’t bear repeating, and now makes a great show of sulking whenever I go and see her.” 

“Mmh. I’ve heard her use a few of those names. You have to wonder where a respect able publisher’s  daughter gets such a vocabulary. She’s been an enlivening addition to the  family,”  Lex smiled. “I’m glad to hear she’s doing well.” 

“Thompkins says she’s very healthy, and very sturdy for her size. He’s confident the  delivery will go through with  minimal problems.” 

“Good. I’ll feel better about planning to go back to London if I can be sure all will be well.” 

“Going back to London? But, Lex...!” 

Lex held up a hand. “Oh, not yet. Not until the end of the month, I think. I need more  strength  and more mobility first. However, I also need to start exercising, if I’m to recover fully,  and my options here are limited. In London, aside from the riding, which I could do here,  there’s the fencing  salle,  the boxing parlour, the baths and sauna, and  if the walks won’t be  quite as pleasant as here, they’re still available. Maître Fouchécourt has worked with convalescents before; he’ll help me put together a regimen of exercise that will get me back into shape sooner, rather than later.”

“Have you told Thompkins yet?” 

“I thought I’d wait until after the baby – babies are here; he’s got enough on his mind just now.” 

Clark looked at him, looked down at his plate, and made faint clucking noises. Lex grinned, and flicked his napkin at him. 

“Stop that. I’m not being cowardly, just practical. By the way, has anyone told you your chicken imitation is entirely too good for comfort?” 

Clark laughed. “Farmboy, remember? Thompkins is not going to be happy.” 

“Of course he’s not. He’s a doctor, and it’s not his idea, but his patient’s. Patients aren’t supposed to have ideas regarding their treatment.” 

“Don’t you think he has a point? He is the expert, after all.” 

“Yes, but it’s  my  body.” 

Clark rolled his eyes, but abandoned that point. “So you’ll leave Chloe and Lucas here?” 

“Or suggest they go home, if Chloe’s well enough. It’s rough on Lucas, going back and forward to Malvern every couple of weeks.” 

“What of the children?”  


“Mine?”  


“Of course, yours!”  


“They’re coming, too, what do you think? Plus Margarethe, and the entire nursery.” 

“I was just checking,” Clark said meekly, with a little smile. 

They ate in companionable silence for a minute or two, then Lex shot Clark a sly glance.  “I notice you don’t ask regarding yourself.”  


“About returning to London?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh, I’m going, too.” 

“Just like that? Without so much as a by-your-leave?” 

Clark nodded, his expression all luminous innocence. 

“And how do you plan on spending your time while I’m exercising my way back  to full  health?” 

“I’ll be there, too, making sure you don’t overdo things, and set yourself back.” 

“You will, will you? My watchdog, in short?” 

Clark’s expression grew serious, and tender. “No. Your very own guardian angel.” 

Lex was silent for  a long time, though his gaze never left Clark’s face, until Clark grew  uncertain, and a little pale. 

“Unless you really don’t want me there...?” he said, in a low, faltering tone. 

Lex reached across the little table, and touched his cheek briefly, with light fingertips. It was the first remotely intimate gesture he had consciously made towards Clark since waking. 

“I want you there,” he said quietly. “I’m just concerned for you. People will talk.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“They’ll say you’re a kept man.” 

“Lex, I don’t care, but if it bothers you, let me earn my keep. I’m sure there’s some way I can be of assistance to you.” 

“That’s worse, Clark. Then they’ll call you my whore, being paid to warm my bed.” 

“I’d warm your bed this instant, if I thought you were interested, but you’re not, are you?” 

Lex smiled wryly. “No. I think my libido has gone on the Grand Tour. That doesn’t mean I don’t care for you, though.” 

Clark’s answering smile was sweet and shy. “I hoped as much.” 

“Enough to worry about your reputation.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t care?” 

“Then you’re a fool – which I know you’re not. What will it do to your family and friends to hear your name bandied about like that of a Haymarket trollop? Don’t, please, say it doesn’t  matter again  – ” 

“But it doesn’t!” 

“You have no notion of the insidious effect of such talk. It’s like a poison dripping  infinitesimally slowly into your veins. It will taint every moment of your existence; in the end, you will come to hate  both yourself and me, as the instigator of your misfortune.” 

Clark seemed a little taken aback at his vehemence. “That’s not what happened last time,” he said quietly. 

“Because I killed the source of the gossip,” Lex reminded him tightly, “and broke  off contact  between us. This is different.” 

Clark leaned forward, very serious, but calm. “I will never let you push me away again, Lex. Not when I know it’s not what you really want.” 

Lex put one hand over his eyes, resting his elbow on the table, and sighed. Once again, he was silent for some time, but then looked up, a different expression on his face. 

“There is one possible solution. I know you’re qualified for it.” He spoke almost as if to himself. “If you became my personal secretary....  Oh, there would still be talk, at first, and some of it pretty malicious, of a surety, but once they realised that the only way to me is  through you, things would soon change.” 

“Instead, they’ll all be making up to me in the hopes of getting your ear?” Clark was a little amused. “That sounds almost as nauseating.” 

“But a good deal more interesting, and it puts you in a far stronger position.” 

“Do you actually  need  a secretary?” 

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. “My work load has been increasing  steadily these last few years, particularly as my investments grow, but I want to spend more time with my children, not less. Natalia helped me to some extent, though her English was never quite up to the letter-writing. Yes, I could use the help, and  will probably need it even more as time goes on.”  He got up, and went to the desk in the other embrasure, reaching for the little writing cabinet,  and drawing out paper, pen and  ink. “I’ll write to Havrelack  and my lawyer, letting them know you speak  for me. You’ll meet them both in London. Also to Simmons –  we can let Mitchell and  Pamela know right away. I suspect Lucas won’t be very surprised. The rest, you can deal with  yourself.”

He began scribbling hastily, still talking to Clark. “When you  see Havrelack, you and he  can discuss salary and terms of employment; tell him I’ll frank any decision the two of you come to. Like that, you don’t need to worry that I’m creating excessively favourable terms for you – trust me, you’ll have to bargain hard with Havrelack. He’s honest, but he’s no altruist, he looks for the best possible value for money.” He turned in the chair to look at Clark. “Understand this. I’m the same. I’ll expect diligence and efficiency, and anything more I think you have to give, within the terms of your contract. It won’t be a sinecure.” 

Clark smiled slowly. “No, I rather think it’ll be a challenge I’ll enjoy.” 

Lex studied him attentively for a few moments, then smiled back, and nodded briefly, turning back to his letters.  “Good. Once I’ve done, you can start by organising the return to  town. You need to get the house opened up again. You need to make appointments with Havrelack, and Sir John Stavely  – he’s my lawyer. You need to make the travel arrangements.  I  think that Thompkins will probably insist that I travel in slower stages than usual. I don’t mind  that, but you will make separate arrangements for Margarethe, the children, and their nurse;  they’ll take the usual time. I leave it up to you to find appropriate  accommodation for all of us.  You’ll make any arrangements Thompkins thinks are necessary  for my well-being. Think hard about what you need for yourself, too, that will all be part of your negotiations with Havrelack.  Chloe told me you’re a prolific  letter-writer;  just as well, you’re going to be using that skill a lot in this job.” 

Clark watched, entertained and happy, as Lex penned several short letters. When he was looking to seal them, Clark lit a small candle at the fire, and brought it to him so he could melt the wax for the seal. Even as he finished sealing the last note, however, Lex stopped suddenly, and looked up at him, his expression serious. 

“There’s one other thing I will need from you. The only person who could be said to  have held this position before you was my wife. I knew her very well, and I trusted her. I knew she was devoted to me. I said once to you that I would rather have your silence than your lies.  That’s no longer true. I cannot accept either, anymore.” 

Clark  returned his serious look. “Almost as soon as I came back here, I knew I was going to tell you everything. In a way, I have to, it’s – it’s tied in with what has happened to you over  the last couple of years. However, what I have to say is for your ears only. I will tell you when I  can be sure that we’re truly alone and not likely to be interrupted or easily overheard. That’s very important to me.” 

Lex considered him thoughtfully and acquiesced silently. Then, after another moment,  he got up, taking  hold of Clark’s wrist, and drew him into the dressing-room  to stand before the full-length mirror.

“Maybe, if you see you’re not the only one with secrets, you’ll find it a little easier to share yours,” Lex said. He stood in front of Clark, so that  they were both reflected, and asked,  “What do you see?” 

Clark smiled at his reflection. “You really want to know?” 

“I really want to know.” 

Clark did what he had been longing to do from the moment he had seen Lex again. He raised a hand and set the palm gently against the bare scalp, letting it shape to the elegant  curve of Lex’s head. He stroked lightly with his thumb, feeling the warm, silken, smooth skin, and then bent his own head to press his lips softly to the exposed nape of Lex’s neck. When  he felt Lex shiver a little, he laughed quietly. 

“Maybe your libido hasn’t quite gone on the Grand Tour after all,” he murmured teasingly in the shell of one ear. 

In the mirror, he watched Lex’s lips lift in a smile. “Maybe not. It’s still gone for a bit of a walk, Clark.” 

“It’ll be back in due course.”  


“It’s not what I asked, though.” 

“No?” 

“No. I asked you what you saw.” 

Clark pressed a soft kiss to the sensitive skin beneath Lex’s ear. “Doesn’t this tell you anything?” he queried, his  voice whisper-soft and cajoling. 

“No, Clark,” Lex said, amused. “All that tells me is that you’re not exactly unbiased.” 

Clark pulled back, faintly exasperated. “Unbiased. Right. What do you want, Lex?” 

“I want you to tell me what you see,” Lex  repeated patiently.  


“An objective view?” 

“An objective view,” Lex confirmed. 

Clark took a step back, with a put-upon sigh, closed his eyes for a moment, and then reopened them to assess Lex as objectively as he knew how, given that he was hopelessly in love with the man, and thought he was pretty well perfect. 

After a few minutes, however, studying the reflection before him, Clark’s gaze sharpened a little. He put his hands around Lex’s shoulders, on the lapels of his robe. 

“May I?” 

Lex nodded, unfastening the robe himself. Clark pulled it off, hooking it to the side of the mirror for the moment. Lex stood there in his fine lawn nightshirt, and Clark put his hands back on his shoulders and then ran them down his arms to his wrists. Then he carefully felt across the shoulders and down his back. There was nothing erotic about the touch, it was completely clinical, and Lex accepted it as if it had been a medical examination. Finally, Clark took his left hand  – Lex’s leading hand –  and drew it out so that his arm was a little extended, but bent at the elbow, and held it there, a slightly unnatural position. He closed his other hand  about Lex’s forearm, and started probing gently around the elbow joint. 

“Don’t let me hurt you,” he said, his brow  furrowed in concentration. 

“What are you looking for?” Lex asked curiously. 

“Muscle tremors. My father broke his arm a few years ago. After six weeks in a sling,  when the arm was extended in just this way, you could feel the muscle tremors just here, at the  top of the forearm, because of the weakness from prolonged inactivity. Lex...” 

Clark released his hand, and reached for Lex’s robe. 

“What do you see?” Lex said once more. 

“That you’re in much better condition than you should be considering you’ve spent the best part of a year confined to your bed,” Clark admitted. “You’re still underweight, and your  muscle tone is far softer than it was, but nowhere near as wasted as it should be under the circumstances. Three weeks of a good diet should  not have restored you to this extent.” 

Lex nodded, and let Clark help him don his robe once more. “Let me show you something else.” 

They returned to the bedchamber, and Lex went to their lunch table, pushing his sleeves up as he did so. A small, but very sharp paring knife had been provided, to cut fruit, though  neither of them had used it on this occasion. Lex picked it up, and to Clark’s utter horror, coolly  sliced open his forearm. 

“Lex! What have you done!”

Clark seized a napkin to bind  the wound tightly, aghast at Lex’s actions. 

“Have you gone mad! Dear God, what possessed you to cut yourself like that?” he  asked frantically. The white cloth had quickly turned red from the blood. 

Lex, however, appeared quite unmoved, and he put his  free hand over Clark’s. 

“Wait a moment,” he said calmly. “Go and pour some water in the basin. I promise I’ll keep the dressing on.” 

Clark did as he was bid, and his own hands were shaking, he was so shocked. Lex came to his side, keeping the napkin Clark had bound around his arm in place, but with the other slung over his shoulder. He dipped the clean one in the fresh water, and held his arm out to Clark. 

“You can take it off now.” 

“No, Lex...”  


“Take it off.” 

When Lex used that tone of voice, it was nearly impossible to disobey him. Clark reluctantly unbound the makeshift dressing. Lex took the other cloth, and wiped away the blood, to reveal an almost completely unmarked arm, with only the faintest trace of the cut he had just inflicted on himself, and even that was fading rapidly. Clark stared. 

“I discovered this about ten days ago. You weren’t here – unusually,” he added, with a little smile. “I dropped a glass, and it shattered. In picking up the pieces, I was clumsy, and cut  myself  –  oh, not very seriously, but it bled a lot. I did what you did just now, wrapped a cloth tightly around the cut. I unbound it again, about ten minutes later, thinking the bleeding would be done. Imagine my surprise when I washed my hand and found the cut had not only ceased bleeding, but had almost disappeared altogether. So you see, Clark, I appear to have some  oddities, too, aside from the obvious, though where and how they arose, I cannot fathom.” 

When there was no answer forthcoming from Clark, Lex took a second look at him, and  pushed him gently into a seat. He smiled wryly, and ran a hand through Clark’s black locks. 

“My poor Ganymede, I really did shock you there. I’m sorry. Don’t look so upset, you can see for yourself I’m perfectly well. No need to work yourself up into such a state.” 

“Lex,” Clark said, in a shaky voice, “don’t  ever  do anything like that again.” 

“No, no, I promise I won’t. I just wanted you to know that, well, you’re not the only one with secrets, now.” 

Clark just shook his head, and leant forward, almost doubling up. He felt Lex come close to him, and put his arms around his head to draw him close, and he pressed his face against  Lex’s abdomen, waiting for the sour taste in his mouth to fade. He was perilously  close to  nausea as it was. However, a few moments of Lex’s gentle stroking soothed him, finally, and he  was able to sit up straight again. Lex touched his face lightly. 

“You’re almost green, you poor thing. I  am  sorry. That was in questionable taste. It  won’t happen again.” 

“It had better not,” Clark said unsteadily. “In case you didn’t realise, it was like watching someone trying to illustrate that he could fly by jumping off the roof of the house! I don’t care  if the miracle worked, the  demonstration’s not acceptable!” 

“Understood,” Lex said contritely, but the very tone of his voice aroused Clark’s suspi cions. 

“You’re laughing at me,” he grumbled. 

“No, no,” Lex denied, then revised his statement. “Or, if I am, I’m laughing at both  of us.  Don’t take it personally. I should have known better. You have a protective streak a mile wide,  you could hardly be expected to accept with equanimity what must have looked pretty much like a suicide attempt, and I really should have known better.” 

Involuntarily, he suddenly yawned hugely. Clark looked up, startled, then sprang to his feet, concerned. 

“Lex, you’re exhausted. You should have been back in bed ages ago.” 

“Oh, don’t fuss! I’ll admit it’s been a –  a rather emotionally tiring  day. Still, it’s been worth every minute. And, yes, you worrywart, I’ll go back to bed now,” he sighed, seeing Clark’s expression. 

He let Clark practically tuck him back in bed, like one of his own children, his amused expression making Clark blush. Clark got his own back, however. As he turned to leave, he made that faint clucking sound again  –  and was promptly hit in the back by a pillow. 

“Yes, you pest! I’ll tell Thompkins later tonight,” Lex sighed exasperatedly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:-
> 
> ￼10 “He’s a bit stupid, but quite sweet.”
> 
> Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	8. In Which A Full Disclosure Is Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lex finally learns the truth about Clark.

Chloe was duly delivered of the predicted twins, a boy and girl, in that order. The boy was named Colin Gabriel, the girl, Alyssa Natalia, which touched Lex. Dr. Thompkins pronounced mother and children healthy and flourishing, and if Lucas had been getting on  Clark’s nerves beforehand he was positively infuriating now. Clark would have taken refuge in Lex’s  company, save that he got little sympathy there, Lex entirely siding with the proud new father, and so he fled to the nursery, where the new arrivals were greeted with pleasure, but altogether less fuss and more practicality. Alexandra, in particular, restored his equanimity, when she asked him gravely if he thought her cousins would be more or less stupid than her baby brother. 

“What did you tell her?”  Lex asked suspiciously, when he passed on this little gem. 

“Oh, more, undoubtedly. How could it be otherwise?” Clark replied, completely  straight-faced. 

Lex gave him a jaundiced look. “Clark, if you think that’s not going to find its way back  to the  parents, you’re seriously deluded. Don’t blame me if Chloe once again ceases speaking to you.” 

“I’m counting on it. It’ll give her something else to think about while she’s recuperating,” he replied smugly. 

“When did you get so devious?” Lex wondered. 

Clark leant over him where he sat to kiss his forehead. “You seem to have expected me to be frozen in time. I’ve grown up a little, you know.” 

Lex gave him a sceptical look. “And my daughter has you wrapped around her little  finger.” 

“Well, yes, there is that,” Clark admitted, with a little grin. 

Lucas took the news that Lex was moving back to London in his stride, rather better than Dr. Thompkins did, at least at first. Lex succeeded, however, in making his point about the improved facilities available in London, and Clark demonstrated that they had considered Thompkins’  likely objections and were planning the trip in easy stages. After much grumbling,  therefore, the doctor eventually conceded that it was perhaps not such an impossible project. Lucas and Chloe remained another three weeks at the Park, but then left for their own home just a day or so before Margarethe and the children were due to leave. Lex and Clark would  leave the following day again, but would arrive in London at least three days after the others.

The house was very still on the last night. Lex and Clark had dined in the library once more, now that they were alone again, and the table had been cleared, save for the brandy. A fire crackled peacefully in the grate. They would not be disturbed again that evening. 

“I had thought to wait a little longer,” Lex said suddenly, “until we were on the road. A closed carriage, and twenty or thirty miles of road, seemed about as private as we’re likely to  get. On reflection, however, I think more comfortable conditions might be better for both of us. Tell me, Clark. Tell me now who you are and what you know of the illness that carried off  my wife, and nearly killed me.” 

He had promised, and he meant to keep that promise, but that did not mean that he  was looking forward to it. He sighed. “It’s a long story, Lex.” 

Lex gave him a crooked half-smile, and pushed the brandy decanter towards him. Clark could not help but laugh. 

“No, that’s not a good idea. I’d end up under the table.” 

“Can you really get drunk?” Lex asked simply. 

Clark hesitated only a moment and  then nodded. “Yes, but not for very long, and I don’t suffer from hangovers.” 

“Fortunate man.” He settled sideways in his chair, elbow on the table,  chin propped up  on his hand, clear gaze settled calmly on Clark. “Just tell me.” 

Clark did, nevertheless, pour himself a glass of brandy. “There are some things you’re just going to have to take on trust, Lex, simply because I don’t know the answers myself,  and doubt I ever will. Even as it is, I hardly know how to begin  – and if you say, ‘at the beginning’, you’ll regret it!” he threatened. 

Lex grinned fleetingly, but waved him on. 

“Very well. The beginning.... The beginning would be your wife’s  jewels, as a matter of fact. I assume you know the story Margarethe told me, about these green stones appearing in Ossetia, just after a mysterious firestorm, a little over twenty-five  years ago?” 

Lex nodded. 

“Well, apparently, so did I. You remember  I told you my first parents were a couple of itinerant gypsies? That was where they found me. They were in the region when the skies rained down fire, and they took refuge in a cave. In the morning, they heard the sound of a  baby crying, and searched until they found him, naked, abandoned in a small clearing, no indications of his origins, no signs of other persons around, crying and feverish, surrounded by shards of green stone. I was that baby.  You must understand, I don’t actually recall any of this,  but when Lyubov, my gypsy mother, was dying, and knew that the Kents were willing to take  me in, she told my mother everything she knew. Don’t ask me how,” he added, with a wry smile, “her English was pretty rudimentary, but she must have managed to communicate  the gist of it all.

“So they took me, and because it looked valuable, they took a large fragment of the  green stone, as large as your fist. They soon found out, though, that I was miserable anywhere near the stuff. I would grow fractious and start crying, and eventually become sick. After a few  weeks, they put the stone away in what they called their ‘treasure chest’, a locked wooden box  of moderate size, and lined with lead, for waterproofing, in which they kept every possession they considered of particular value. Every few days, however, weather permitting, they would put me outside the caravan, in a roughly made pen, and then they would go back into the caravan and  – and worship the green stone. That’s the only term I can use for it. They  truly believed it was an emerald, and that it would provide for them when age made travelling impossible. My only recollection was of them growing slowly more and more wan and listless, Kolya first, then Lyubov. 

“Eventually, our travels brought us to  England. I was deemed to be about three at that point, though we were never sure exactly how old I really was. My tolerance to the stone had  decreased steadily over time. By now, I was reduced to vomiting if I got too close, but I don’t  believe they ever imagined that what was making me sick in such a conspicuous fashion could be harming them, too. As their health declined, they were drawn to it more and more. 

“Kolya died the week after we had made camp on the Kents’ land. They were so kind to  Lyubov and me after his death. They did not heed the rumours of plague, for there was no evident reason for his death, and Martha gave Lyubov work, but let her keep the caravan for us to live there, as it was the only home we knew. As Lyubov turned more and more to the stone, as she might have turned to a holy relic, so I ran increasingly to the farm, to that warm, sweet-smelling kitchen, or the barn with its cats and dogs, to Martha and Jonathan, who welcomed me so readily, and started teaching me English. 

“Lyubov died, as Kolya had, and the caravan was dismantled. I remember being taken  into town, and meeting a rather stern older man  – Martha Kent’s father,  my grandfather, as I discovered later  –  and lots of men talking above my head, and papers being signed. I was  adopted, and I had a new name. Martha took Lyubov’s treasure chest and put it in the attic,  and said that when I was older, we would go through it together. All I knew was that the stone  was gone where it couldn’t hurt me, that my new parents  had no interest in it, and that I was happy and cared for where I was. 

“I followed my new parents about like a puppy. When it rained, I was in Mother’s skirts  all the time, in the kitchen, usually, stealing apples behind her back. She seemed to have eyes  in the back of her head! I always knew that when I’d been successful in filching something to  eat, it was because she had allowed it. She was less happy when I left finger smudges all over her newly polished dining room table, or on the freshly washed  window panes, though,” he  smiled reminiscently.

“When the weather was fine, it was Father I followed around. I went everywhere on the  farm with him. He taught me the basics of self-preservation any child needs to learn  –  to stay away from deep water, from fire, from heights, from sharp edges, from dangerous animals  –  without realising that it was not necessary, in my case. But then, neither did I know that, at the time. Even I did not notice that nothing seemed to scratch or bruise my skin, no matter how  sharp the kitten’s claws, or how much of a tumble I had taken. Then, one day, we were out in  the buggy, and a wild pig dashed across the track and frightened the horse. It shied and bolted, and the wheels caught in a pothole, toppling the buggy. I was thrown clear, unhurt as usual, but Father was pinned underneath and could not free himself. He called to me to run and get help, find some men who could lift the buggy and free him. Instead, I lifted it myself and set it right on its wheels, but turned in the other direction, so we could go home. As for the horse, I rounded it up and had it re-harnessed in the blink of an eye. I lifted Father into the back, and set off for the farm so that we could send for the doctor and he could be seen to. I was about nine years old. 

“We were all a little frightened, at first, but my parents were quick to reassure me that  nothing could take me from them. However, they impressed upon me the need for secrecy. They saw my differences as a gift, and never let me think otherwise, but understood that people fear that which is different to what they know. They had no wish for me to become either an outcast or the subject of a sideshow at the fair. I betrayed myself, inadvertently, once, not long thereafter, but it was to Pete Ross, and I was fortunate to find in him a trusty accomplice. There are only two others, aside from yourself, who know anything of my secrets. 

“When I was twelve, Mother took me up to the attic, saying it was time I inspected the  only heritage left to me by those who had initially taken me in, and decided what to do with whatever we found in the treasure chest. When she opened the chest, however, the attic filled with an unearthly green glow, and I fell to the floor in agonising convulsions, my veins burning with a green fire that you could see through my skin. It took Mother a moment to put the evidence together, but then she slammed the lid of the chest shut, and I recovered fully within a couple of minutes. I told her then that I thought that the green stone had killed Lyubov and Kolya, so she sent me back downstairs, removed everything else that was in the chest, then had Father bury it, with the stone locked inside, deep under a boundary wall on the estate. 

“My abilities developed exponentially  over the next decade. I think they still are developing. I’m invulnerable –  nothing can pierce my skin, neither fire nor acid can burn me. I feel  changes in temperature very little. I’m strong, stronger than twenty horses, stronger than you can possibly imagine. I haven’t found my own limits yet. I’m fast; I can cover hundreds  of miles  in a heartbeat, and move so fast that the eye cannot see me. I’ve been able to levitate for a  while, but recently I discovered I can fly, and just as fast as I can run  –  certainly faster than any  creature I’ve ever come across yet. I can go for immensely long periods of time without breath ing. I could cross the Channel underwater, without ever breaking surface for air. I can also freeze things with my breath.  I’d demonstrate, but I’d end up breaking something, and I’d  rather not. I can see through things, and I can also see in microscopic detail. I mean, I could tell you where each and every one of the remaining staff is, and what he or she is doing right now, but I also knew Chloe was having twins the moment I set eyes on her in December. I can see  your skeleton right now. You told me you’d split your lip falling off the scaffolding around the fountain at your father’s home. Is that also how you broke  your arm? I can see an old break,  just here.”

He reached out to touch Lex’s upper arm lightly. Lex started slightly. 

“No,” he said, after a moment, “that was a more prosaic accident –  a horse I thought I  could master, which had other ideas.” 

Clark  nodded, and went on. “There’s something else I can do with my vision, though I don’t quite know how to explain it. If I focus on an object, or a point, in a certain way, it will  heat up. At first, I used to set fire to things rather arbitrarily, but now I have much greater control. I can warm a cup of tea that has gone cold, or I can melt iron. I can hear conversations taking place at great distances; I can locate screams in the next county, if need be. There may be other things that I have still to discover, though I think, now, they will simply be extensions of what I already know. 

“I don’t know what I am, Lex. When I was little, as I said, my parents urged caution and  secrecy on me, mostly so that I would not be taken from them. Later on, I accepted that for myself,  because I did not want, or seek, to be different. I don’t, Lex, truly, I want to be as normal as I can be....” 

For the first time, Lex interrupted him. “An impossible task, Ganymede, you were  always going to stand out from the crowd. Your enhancements apply to the exterior as well as  to the interior.” At Clark’s slightly blank look, he gave an exasperated little sigh. “Sometimes  you carry modesty too far, Clark. I told you years ago you were more beautiful than any man had a right to be.”  He watched the colour stain Clark’s cheeks, and laughed shortly, shaking his head. “Do you know what’s really extraordinary?” 

“What?” 

“That you can just sit there and blush about it all, like a schoolboy caught with his pants  down. Dear  God, if that had been me.... If I’d been the one born with those talents, those  abilities,  I’d rule the known world, and be seeking to expand my empire! All your Hapsburgs  and Romanovs, your Bourbons and Saxe-Coburgs, your maharajahs and sultans, and republics of this or that could all go hang! Not one would stand up to me and the kind of power I would wield! But you? You linger in the shadows and you make sure the roads are fit for travel.  Don’t you?” he challenged outright. “You cleared the Edinburgh  to London road, the main  roads around Oxford, the Heath outside London. You were Portenoy’s enigmatic second  highwayman,  who cursed the pistol in the first’s hand and caused it to explode. You were the  mysterious vigilante who delivered notorious thieves and murderers tied hand and foot, ready  to confess, to the Runners.”

“I’ve never been able to ignore calls for help,” Clark said in a small voice, after a moment. “How did you know about the roads?” 

“I’ve always known where you were, and what you were doing,” Lex answered. “Chloe  sometimes gave me your letters to read. Oh, not all of them, not by any means, but enough that I grew to crave them. It was like hearing you talk. Even when I was out of the country, she would sometimes copy parts  in her letters to me. She’s a much better correspondent than  Lucas. Very soon after they married, she took over the letter-writing  duties for them both.” 

“I would have gladly written to you myself, had you allowed it.” 

Lex’s smile was bitter. “You know why I didn’t. It was bad enough I let Chloe feed me those titbits. She didn’t do so right away, I was married by the time the first one came. I felt like I was being unfaithful.” He had turned his face away from Clark, and was staring into the  fire. 

“I always liked Natalia. I knew her when she was younger, and even then she was as bright as she was pretty. I came back into her life just at the right time. She’d turned nineteen; her family was looking for a good marriage for her, which wasn’t  going to be that easy. She was the youngest of six, including two brothers; she had her birth for her, and her looks, but not much in the way of a dowry by that point. Still, I was attentive, and she liked me, so she let herself fall in love with an eminently suitable match. Her father was delighted. I was his business partner;  he knew my prospects were excellent, both financially and socially. I didn’t  need a rich wife. I had rank, I had money, I was personable; in short, I was wholly eligible. And,  oh, God, she looked so like you, as much as any woman ever could.” 

“Is that really why you married her?” Clark asked timidly. 

“It’s certainly why I proposed when I did. Later, I realised it wasn’t such a bad idea. I did  come to care for her. She was everything I could have looked for in a wife; beautiful, intelligent, gently bred and chaste. She was an ornament in public, an agreeable companion in private, and the loving mother of my children. I vowed to be a good husband to her, to make sure she never regretted leaving her home and family to live with me. Yet every time I found an  extract of your letters in Chloe’s letters to me, I felt as though I was betraying her, and now, now, it seems that I brought her to her untimely death.” 

“No, no!” Clark said hastily. “You mustn’t think that, Lex. From what I’ve understood, I’m afraid she was probably condemned anyway. You didn’t cause her death, but she almost caused yours. You said you knew Margarethe’s story. Don’t you realise that the green stones  in those jewels aren’t emeralds at all, but the same green stone that caused the death of  Lyubov and Kolya? The individual stones were much smaller than the one I knew, but the whole must have been considerably greater. Prolonged exposure to their effects is what killed  her, and nearly killed you. I’m convinced, based on Margarethe’s account, it also killed Princess Lugansky.”

“You’re sure they’re the same stone?” 

“Yes, Lex. In the first place, I can prove they’re not emeralds, because I took one  for analysis, and I have the results for you to see any time you wish. In the second place, I reacted exactly the same way when I tried to enter your bedroom on arriving here, as I did when  Mother opened that chest, and if you don’t believe that, you can  ask Raffaele. He had to drag  me out of your room, because I was incapable of moving myself. That’s why I had them removed to the safe room.” 

“You can’t be hurt!” Lex argued.  


“Except by that stuff, whatever it is,” Clark countered. 

“How?” 

Clark  threw up his hands. “How do I know? The only thing I’ve come up with is that  they react in some way with air or light, or possibly both, to give off some invisible, odourless, undetectable fumes. You would have been breathing it in nightly for months. As to the difference in our reactions, well, you called me ‘enhanced’ a few minutes ago. I react very violently,  to the point that I believe I would die, quite rapidly, if I had to undergo prolonged exposure.  Maybe that, too, is an ‘enhanced’ reaction, as much so as my other abilities.” 

“You said you don’t get sick. No colds, no influenza, pox, consumption....” 

“No, nothing –  nothing except the weakness and nausea that overcome me in the presence of that green stone. I find it hard to believe that something that could have such a deleterious effect on me could be completely without effect on everybody else. Although  – ”  he stopped abruptly. 

“What?” When Clark hesitated, Lex made an impatient gesture. “This is not the time  for reticence, Clark?” 

“Well –  it occurred to me that  your  changes  –  the rapid healing  –  might also be due to exposure to the stone. Too great an exposure results in death, but if the  –  the process is interrupted along the way, other, non-fatal  alterations may result.” 

“Such as perfect health and recovery? Immunity? Clark....” There was suddenly an odd light in Lex’s eyes. 

“Lex,  no!  Please! Think about what you’re saying. I can see where your imagination is taking you, but it’s not possible! To conduct experiments  based on your own experience  –  how many would die, in the first instance? It would be completely irresponsible. What if any  changes turn out to be aleatory? You’ve been blessed with healing, but what if someone else wasn’t blessed but cursed with some  horrific mutation  –  a predisposition to cannibalism, or  something terrible like that?” 

“What if it produced another you?” 

“What if it produced you with my abilities? You’ve already said what a disaster that would be.” 

“I did, didn’t I?” he admitted ruefully, and sighed. “You have a valid argument. I’ll have the gems destroyed.” 

“You won’t be able to, Lex. The settings will melt, but the stones won’t, and even  pulverised,  they retain their properties.” 

Lex raised an eyebrow. “What do you suggest, then?” 

“Short-term  exposure seems to be innocuous enough. Get a jeweller to replace the  stones with real emeralds. That way Alexandra keeps her mother’s inheritance. Seal the stones up in a casket, and bury them deep, as my parents did.” 

“That’s not a bad idea. I’ll do more than bury them, however, I’ll have them jettisoned at sea, where no man is ever likely to find them again.” He sipped at his brandy thoughtfully,  before  saying, “Now, tell me the rest of it.” 

Clark hesitated. “What do you mean?” 

“Everything else that’s been going on. Everything Lucas has been tiptoeing around  these last few weeks. I lied to my father, you know. I did remember Gardner. I remember Pamela leaving, and Mrs. Nesbitt taking her place. There are a couple of new faces on staff. Armstrong was staying here for a few days  – I wasn’t even aware you were acquainted.” 

“I wasn’t,” Clark mumbled. 

“Tell me the rest, Clark. You promised me, no more lying.” 

“It’s not a matter of lying,” Clark sighed. “It’s just  that there has never been any proof.  We were working from supposition, on a basis of ‘better safe than sorry’.” 

He told Lex all the rest of it.

When he was done, Lex was silent. He was looking back into the fire again, and Clark could read nothing at all from his profile. He looked pale, but that was hardly unusual. He always had, and all the more so now that he had barely seen the light of day for so many months. As it was, though, he could have been carved from marble, still and perfect as an antique bust. That stillness held Clark immobile, too, until Lex finally spoke. 

“How sure of this are you?” 

“You know Armstrong better than I, but I didn’t think he was lying. I’m completely sure  of the chemical analyses; Bruce is one of the very few  who know my secrets, and I’ve learned to trust him implicitly. He has no possible agenda in this matter. As to the rest, no, I can’t say that I’m as sure as I’d like to be, but in such restricted conditions, I could not spy as effectively as I’d  have liked.  The risk of revealing myself was too great.” 

“Yes, I can see that.” After another long pause, he said quietly, “Clark, I’d like to be alone for a while. Why don’t you go to bed? There’s much to do tomorrow.” 

Clark was reluctant. “Lex....” 

“Everything will be all right. You’ve given me a lot to think about, that’s all.” 

Reluctantly, Clark rose from the table, but as he left the room, he passed by the Broadwood piano, still swathed in protective drapes. He touched the cloth-covered surface lightly. 

“Lex, I never hear you play these days.” 

He looked up at Clark, still quite expressionless. “I think the music has left me.” 

Clark felt the flat timbre of his voice like a chill in his bones, as he made his way back to his room. He did not know whether Lex was upset, or angry, or both  –  that he was deeply disturbed seemed evident enough. He had hoped not to have to reveal everything in one sitting as he had just done, hoped that Lex would accept it in instalments, which would have given him time to adjust in between. He should have known better; Lex was always avid for information, the one area in which he could truly be impatient, and he had a keen eye for inconsistencies and loose ends. Telling him the whole story on the road would have been preferable, as their halts would have created natural breaks. Lex, however, had clearly realised there was much to cover, hence his request to hear everything now, before they set out, regardless of any additional privacy the conditions of travel might have offered them. 

Clark went to bed, but not to sleep. He sat up reading, listening out for the sound of Lex returning to his own room. Even though he was determined to wait, however, his eyes eventually closed of their own accord, and it was a gentle tapping at the door that woke him. It took him a moment to realise that the knocking was not at the principal door of the bedroom, but at  the connecting door, which meant that it could only be Lex. He jumped out of bed hastily to answer it.

Lex was in his nightclothes, his robe wrapped closely about him. He looked wan, and a little lost. 

“You were asleep,” he said, after a quick, appraising look at Clark. “I saw the light under  your door. I thought  – I’m sorry, I’ll leave you to your rest.” 

Clark’s hand shot out and caught Lex’s arm lightly. “No, please. I meant to wait up for you, anyway; I must have dozed off inadvertently. It must be late.” 

“About two, I think. I couldn’t sleep.” 

“Come in.” 

He drew Lex in gently, only letting go when he had closed the door behind them both. Lex crossed the room to sit at the foot of the bed, while Clark quickly went to stoke up the fire, but he did not increase the illumination. When he was done, he sat beside Lex, arms just brushing slightly, and remained silent. Whatever Lex wanted to say, he would say in his own good time. Clark dared not hope that Lex wanted anything more from him just now than an attentive and sympathetic ear. Nevertheless, his first question took Clark by surprise. 

“Clark, would you take me flying?” 

“Fly – ?” He smiled involuntarily. “You want to go flying?” 

“I’d like to experience it. Would you take me?” 

“Yes,” he replied promptly, “but not tonight, and not dressed like this. Undressed, I should say. It’s  too cold;  I’m not having you coming down with consumption after all the rest.” 

“Maybe I can’t, anymore,” Lex pointed out mildly. 

“What, catch consumption, because you’re recuperating unusually rapidly? I have no  wish to test the limits of your healing  potential, Lex. I’m glad you seem to have acquired some benefit from your ordeal, but that’s as far as it goes.” 

“I do.” 

“Do what?” 

“Want to test my limits. Come to that, I want to test yours as well.” His gaze was fixed  on the floor, and his voice  was low as he went on. “You mustn’t let me, Clark.”

“Up to a point, I don’t really mind, you know.” 

“Whatever you want to show me, I will  gratefully  accept, but don’t let me push you into  more. I know you, Clark, you are the kindest and most generous of souls and you  –  you have  feelings for me...” 

Clark slipped his hand into Lex’s, and interlaced their fingers. “I love you, Lex,” he said  simply. 

There was a slight, breathless pause, and Lex’s fingers tightened about his own briefly. 

“Don’t ever  let me use that against you, Clark. You must promise me that. I could.  You’re – potentially, you’re a powerful tool. Part of me wants to use that, to use  you to further my own ends. I could manipulate your  –  feelings for me. I probably will try to  do that. I’m  saying this now, however, once and for all; your supernormal abilities are no part of any arrangement we may have between us, personal or professional. They are yours alone, to be used as you alone see fit. Promise me that you will never relinquish  that independence.” 

“I will not let you, or anyone else, use me or my abilities in any way I feel to be wrong,” Clark said gravely. Then he brought their linked hands up to his lips, and kissed Lex’s knuckles lightly. “I will, however, take you  flying on the earliest suitable occasion, and fetch you pome granates from India if the fancy takes me.” 

Lex smiled faintly, relaxing slightly. Clark kissed his fingers again.  


“Was that so important to you?” he asked.  


“Yes, Clark, it was. I’ve few illusions about myself, I’m not a good man....” 

Clark stopped him from going any further. “Yes, you are, Lex. Oh, you’re ambitious, and  I know you can be manipulative,  and cunning, but a bad man would not have asked what you’ve  just asked. A bad man would not be warning me against himself. He would not be trying to protect me, and he would not be hurting  –  bleeding inside  –  from some of the things I had to tell him earlier tonight. A bad man has no friends, Lex, only fearful satellites, and people whom  he has placed under obligation. A bad man is your father, not you.” 

There was a long silence. “I don’t know why it still matters to me.” 

Clark shrugged a little. “He is your father. You were entitled to more from him – another reason he’s a bad man, and you’re not. If you were, you wouldn’t care, neither about me nor about him.” 

“You have an answer for everything.” There was the faintest edge of resentment in  Lex’s tone.

Clark smiled seraphically, and Lex, catching the expression from the corner of his eye, had to laugh under his breath. He said nothing, however, just leaned against Clark a little more. It felt good; Clark was warm, and so solidly reassuring. 

“Do you want to sleep here?” Clark murmured after a while. 

“I was too cold,” Lex answered obliquely.  


“You’d be warm with me.” 

Lex was barely aware of shedding his robe and climbing under the covers, only that he  was quickly enfolded in the living, breathing heat of Clark’s embrace. All the chills faded from  him, body and soul, and he let sleep claim him without fear of evil dreams. 

In the morning, when Clark awoke, the other side of the bed was empty, but the space  was still warm. Lex had not been gone long. Clark’s smile was  inextinguishable for the rest of the day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	9. In Which There Is Much Travelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes return to London, and there is a pleasant encounter for Lex.

The trip to London was uneventful, if a little slow for the travellers’ liking. Clark was  principally relieved to find that all the various inns along the way had received his instructions and had carried them out unquestioningly. He was similarly reassured to find the London house in perfect order. It was also a relief to realise that the staff there seemed to like him and approve of him as much as that of Rutherford Park, and was therefore prepared to assist, rather than hinder him in his new responsibilities. This was always a state to be desired, but it turned out to be a double blessing in this case, for once Lex and Maître Fouchécourt had met  and settled on an exercise regimen, Clark was left pretty much to run Lex’s day-to-day  affairs on his own. 

He had meant, as he had said, to supervise Lex’s recovery, fearing that Lex would drive  himself too hard. However, he was pleased to find that the little French fencing-master knew precisely what he was doing, had a keen eye for the well-being of one of his favourite students, and was not about to let himself be intimidated in any way by Lex. After a few days, Clark was  content to leave the bulk of Lex’s convalescence in Thompkins’s and Fouchécourt’s hands,  knowing neither would let him push himself too far, too fast. 

Clark, on the other hand, found himself up to his neck in correspondence, and, rather more alarmingly, the necessity of hiring  a housekeeper for the St. James’ Square house. Marga rethe, after a few days, had delicately pointed out the lack of upper housemaids, and the need for them now that there were ladies in permanent residence, even if one of the ladies was not yet three. It had been all very well while the house had been effectively shut up for the best part of two years, but things were different now, and upper housemaids meant a housekeeper to keep them in order. Clark had not the faintest idea how to go about hiring servants, and  Margarethe’s English  was not really up to the task. 

Simmons was invaluable. He advised Clark as to which were the best employment agencies in town, he discreetly sat in on the interviews and afterwards gave his informed opinion when asked, and above all, he helped Clark make an initial triage of the voluminous correspondence that suddenly  started appearing in St. James’ Square in the second week after  their arrival. 

“How did he cope with all this?” Clark asked, astonished, one morning. “I don’t recall  seeing anything like this coming to the Park these last couple of months, nor on my previous visit. So much of it is just  – trivia.” 

“Yes, sir,” Simmons agreed, with the faintest of smiles. “Word has got round, sir, that his lordship is back. Last year, I sent everything on to Mr. Havrelack’s office, and I believe he  and Mr. Dunleavy  disposed of it. It’s true it was not this much, when his lordship was 

younger, but after he brought her ladyship home, the social obligations multiplied noticeably.  It’s quite usual, sir. A gentleman with domestic obligations is hardly in  the same situation as a carefree bachelor.” 

“No, I suppose not,” Clark agreed, opening yet another note from a well-wisher  that would need to be acknowledged. 

“The mistress took care of the less important correspondence,” Simmons went on, “though  I actually did most of the writing, as did Mr. Mitchell at the Park  –  to her ladyship’s dictation, of course, but her English was not quite as, ah, polished as might have been desired. I  trust you’ll keep that to yourself, sir?” he enquired discreetly. 

Clark  shot him an amused look. “His lordship knew, however?” 

“Oh, yes, sir, of course,” Simmons assured him quickly. 

“Then your secret’s safe with me. I hope you’ll continue to lend your expertise until I’ve found my feet.” 

“I am at your service, sir.” 

Of course, Lex himself was of considerable assistance. His rehabilitation sessions usually finished in the mid-afternoon, having begun very early in the morning, which permitted him to use the pool at the Bessington Club in complete privacy. He was doing very well, and would have pushed harder, were it not that both Clark and Fouchécourt were very much on the alert for any such behaviour, and that he was, usually, genuinely exhausted by the time the fencing master or his assistants were done with him. Normally, he would change out of the garments  he wore to exercise, catch up on the day’s news, or on whatever book he was currently  reading, dine early, and retire to bed at an hour that, had it been proposed to him a year or more earlier, would have excited his liveliest scorn. While he read, Clark would sit in the same room and work quietly. Over dinner, and for perhaps an hour thereafter, he would fill Lex in on all the latest developments. 

Lex had tried to get him to go out by himself, to take in the plethora of entertainments  available in London now that the Season was well and truly launched. Rossini’s  _Il Turco in Italia_ was playing once again at the King’s Theatre, there were performances of Haydn’s oratorio  _The Creation_ at Covent Garden,  _Der Freischütz_ was being played at Drury Lane, and there were farces and light plays aplenty, such as  _Tom and Jerry_ at the Coburg. Clark adamantly refused to indulge, and was perfectly content to stay with Lex at all times, until Lex finally, ruefully, gave up making any such suggestions. He had been afraid of being selfish, keeping Clark by him at all  times, but in truth he was glad of Clark’s company, even when they were simply in the same  room each at his own occupation. 

However, over dinner and afterwards, Clark would not hesitate to bring any problems  he had with his new position to Lex, asking for clarification on certain points, showing him what decisions he had taken, how he had treated this or that letter, ensuring that his responses were appropriate. Lex provided direction, letting him know who was important and who was not, reassuring him that his instincts were, for the most part, guiding him surely, and that he was neither  committing any great social solecisms, nor acting counter to Lex’s wishes  and best interests.

Lucas turned up at the end of the second week for a couple of days, to see how Lex was getting on and to boast unabashedly of his twins, which Lex accepted with benign amusement. He also mentioned that Havrelack had sent him a slightly panicked letter saying that he understood his principal client was back in town, but had not yet heard from him, yet the London household account had clearly gone into full activity once more, and that he was starting to find the whole situation a trifle worrying. On hearing this, Lex fixed Clark with a baleful eye. 

“Have you not settled your own contract yet?” 

“I’ve been a little preoccupied, Lex,” Clark defended. “You’ve seen the quantity of  letters,  and there’s been that matter of the housekeeper...” 

Lex made an impatient gesture. “All of which could have waited a day or two while you  established  your own position. You’re an idiot. You’ve been working for nothing for the last two weeks. Havrelack’s going to make mincemeat of you! Lucas, will  you please take this  dunderhead to Havrelack’s office tomorrow morning, and see to it that they establish a contract. I’ve already told Clark, but I’ll tell you as well, and you can repeat it to Havrelack; I’ll  agree to anything the two of them decide  between them. However, don’t intervene. If you get rooked,” he added sardonically, turning back to Clark, “you’ll only have yourself to blame.” 

In the carriage out to Clerkenwell Green, where Havrelack had his offices, the next morning,  Lucas said, “I  know Lex said I should not interfere, but I have less faith than he has in your business acumen, and I think he has seriously underestimated your capacity for self-abnegation.” It was clearly not meant as a compliment. “What were you thinking of as a  suitable  annual salary?” 

Clark shot him a darkling look. “You know, if you weren’t Chloe’s husband, I could  seriously  dislike you.” 

“I  could say much the same thing to you,”  Lucas retorted promptly. “However, since she  decided to adopt you as a sibling,  and it looks like you’re back in Lex’s life to stay, I reckon I  have to make the best of it  –  which includes preventing you from making an ass out of yourself. Just answer the question,  Kent.” 

He rolled his eyes, but answered. “I was getting £20, with  board and lodging, at Sir  William Morton’s, but I was only a tutor, and that was Cleveland. I realise matters are bound to be different here in London. The town’s more expensive, and my position’s more important. I  don’t know exactly. I thought, maybe around £60. Perhaps even as much as £75?”

Lucas groaned, clapped a hand over his eyes, and thumped his head several times against the interior (fortunately, well padded) of the carriage. 

“Dear God! What does he see in you? I mean, seriously,  what  –  aside from the obvious,  of course.” 

Clark scowled. “Dunleavy, regardless of what I said a moment ago, I have frequently  been tempted to throw you into the nearest mill-race,  and don’t think for a minute that I couldn’t do it. So will you please just  cease your dramatics and get to the point, or else shut up  once and for all.” 

Lucas would have died rather than admit it, but he did find Clark somewhat intimidating physically, even while he rather scorned his usually gentle manner. Besides, Lex would never forgive him if he really abandoned the lamb to the wolf, and that was a serious enough consideration in itself. 

“Very well. Lex will be very unhappy if you come out with anything less than about £100 per annum.” 

“A hundred...!” 

“Quiet, Kent, and let me finish. If you’ll take my advice, if Havrelack suggests a figure, treble it. If he doesn’t, go for something completely outrageous, like £500.” 

“Five...!” 

“I told you to pipe down! That’s when you start haggling. Let me tell you that Havrelack  will feel positively aggrieved  if you don’t even attempt to drive a hard bargain, and you want  him on your side, it will simplify matters for you considerably in the future. If you do as I say,  you’ll end up with something like, say, £120, plus board and lodging, plus a clothing allowance.” 

“What do I need a clothing allowance for, with that kind of salary?” Clark asked, aghast. 

“For heaven’s sake, think about it! You’ll be appearing at Lex’s side constantly. Lex has  been known as one of the most stylish men in town ever since he reached his majority. You, on  the other hand, wear clothes for decency’s sake, but of fashion sense, you have none! You can’t do that to Lex, so you had better get used to buying your coats at Weston’s.” 

Clark made a grumbling noise, but Lucas was making sense, and Clark acted accordingly. Nevertheless, when he returned to St. James Square with a contract stipulating an annual salary of £135, board and lodging at the expense of the employer, on the premises, and a further allowance of £50 for suitable clothing, he was unquestionably nervous as Lex cast a practised  eye over the terms. Lex slid a sly glance  in Clark’s direction.

“You took some advice, didn’t you?” 

Clark blushed hotly. “Dunleavy had  a few words to say  on the subject.” 

“I was expecting you to come back with something under £100 and no extras, and was prepared to send you right back out again,” Lex admitted, amused. 

“You said you’d frank whatever was agreed.” 

“I lied,” Lex said blandly, and signed  the contract. 

As March passed, and April approached, Lex’s health continued to improve steadily, but  still he would not leave the house and make an appearance in public, and this concerned Clark. It was not like Lex to be fearful of public reaction and, frankly, Clark thought he had nothing to worry about. He could admit to himself that he was a little biased, but he still thought that  Lex’s baldness only made him more striking, and as his physical strength returned, so did the  grace and fluidity of his movements. He had the poise to weather anything that might be thrown his way. Even a trip or two to the theatre would have been better than this isolation. Lex was entertained by the ballet, enjoyed plays, and adored the opera, and as he had always occupied boxes at any of the theatres he had frequented, it meant that he could be seen without actually having to meet anyone. Clark would see to it, if that was what Lex wanted. Even that prospect did not seem to appeal particularly at present, however, and Clark was at a loss to explain it in any way that made sense to him. 

If there was one thing that troubled him more than anything else, it was that Lex had still not resumed playing. It had been almost a ritual with him before, and Clark knew that music had a profound, almost mystical influence on Lex, refreshing and easing his spirit as nothing else could do. He had been proud of his ability; he had exercised it just as religiously as he practiced fencing or any other sport at which he excelled. Yet Clark had heard not one note from his fingers in all these past weeks, nor even seen Lex open a score to read from it. He developed the notion that until Lex played, there was a wound that was not healing, and until it healed, Lex would never be wholly himself again. He kept that idea to himself, for he knew that Lex would have scorned it as vulgar superstition, but sought ceaselessly for a solution nevertheless. 

Once more, fortune played into Clark’s hands, as he made an encounter one afternoon  that, with a little bold manoeuvring, he hoped would effect the cure for which he longed. 

He had had to go out just after lunch, so did not see Lex come back from the last of the  day’s sessions, but when he returned to the house, he duly found Lex in an upper  salon, reading  the newspaper. He came to Lex’s side, and knelt by him, one hand on Lex’s knee, his expression  bright. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked earnestly. 

Lex gave him an odd look. “You know I’m no longer as tired as I was a couple of weeks ago.” 

“Good –  because I ran into someone just now whom I think you would really like to see.  Would you please come down to the music room?” 

Lex had refused all visits to the house as well over the last few weeks, so for Clark to actually invite someone in was extremely unusual, and he believed that Clark would not have done so unless he felt it to be very important. He was reluctant, but trusting, and acquiesced, following Clark downstairs and into the music room, into which he had barely entered since returning to London. 

It was not one person Clark had introduced into the room, but three; two women and a man. The man and the elder of the  women were about Clark’s age, while the second woman  was perhaps not yet twenty. At first Lex was quite perplexed, but there was something about the older woman that was familiar, and then his memory supplied the name. 

“Miss Trevelyan?” he ventured, surprised. 

She beamed,  and curtseyed deeply. “My lord. It’s wonderful to meet you again.” 

He took her hand to raise her. She had not reacted in the slightest to his appearance, and while he was a trifle suspicious of that in itself, he was nonetheless silently grateful. The man and younger woman had not reacted, either, though they were hanging back, waiting to be properly introduced. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Trevelyan,” he said courteously. “Your letters have  afforded me much gratification over the years. I was very touched by your condolences when I  lost my wife,” he added sincerely. “I received many others that did not ring half as true. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to maintain the correspondence of late.” 

She nodded. “When your man of business began to reply to my letters, I understood  that you were prevented by your own illness. I cannot tell you how delighted I was to meet Mr. Kent this afternoon, and to hear that you were well on the road to recovery, and back in London.” 

“I came across Miss Trevelyan and her companions in Bond Street,” Clark interjected cheerfully, “and, actually, it’s no longer Miss Trevelyan, but Mrs. Heller.” 

Lex raised an eyebrow, and the young singer dimpled, and nodded again. “If you please,  my lord, may I present my husband, Johann Heller, and my sister-in-law, Miss Anneliese  Heller?”

“Congratulations,”  Lex said, as the young man and his sister made their obeisance to  him. “Is this a recent development?” 

“Five months, my lord,” Mrs. Heller smiled, blushing, “though we first met almost two  years ago, in Paris. However, once Signor Garcia was satisfied with my training and permitted me to seek full-time employment, Johann and I decided we could marry. We have been very  fortunate. I’ve just been engaged as a company soloist at the King’s Theatre for the season and  Johann is to be a repetiteur at Drury Lane.” 

Lex smiled at her enthusiasm and gestured towards the chairs they had been occupying earlier, to indicate they should be seated once more. 

“Once again, congratulations. What of Miss Heller?” he inquired graciously. 

“I am a soprano, my lord,” the  girl said shyly. Her English was good, though she had a  distinct, if not unattractive German accent. “Johann is all my family, so I have come to continue training in London, and am still seeking employment in some minor capacity.” 

“You have not heard the best of it yet, my lord,” Mrs. Heller went on excitedly. “Aside from the smaller roles I am to sing later in the season, the management at the King’s have told  me to learn the role of Arsace. They are to mount  _Semiramide_ again, from May, with La Pasta, Signora Brambilla, and Signor Galli, and I am to understudy Signora Brambilla!” 

Lex nodded approvingly. “It’s significant that you’ve been asked, in your first season, to cover such an important role. It’s clear you’ve impressed the right people. I trust you’ve  already started work. I know the opera  – there is a great deal of music to be learnt for Arsace.” 

“Indeed, my lord,” Mrs. Heller agreed earnestly. “I’ve learnt the solo arias, and Anneli ese has been helping me with the duets with Semiramide  and Azema.” She sat forward suddenly. “Would you like to hear?  I would dearly love an informed and objective opinion, and I  know there are few opinions better than yours.” 

“Mrs. Heller, I’m afraid I haven’t played in long months,” Lex began, a little  embarrassed, but she shook her head, all eagerness. 

“No, no, my lord, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to accompany in any event. Johann is my accompanist, we’ve worked steadily on this ever since I was told. If you will permit, of course.” 

Vanquished by her enthusiasm, Lex merely made a graceful gesture towards the piano. Clark lingered long enough to note, amused and gratified, the odd aria turn into an  impromptu lecture-concert, with Lex doing his fair share of the lecturing. He slipped out of the room to tell Simmons to bring refreshments and to warn the kitchen that it was likely they would have guests for dinner, and then returned to the music room, to take a discreet seat out of the way, and watch Lex emerge, little by little, from his self-imposed spiritual exile.

Sure enough, none noticed the passage of time, and when Lex realised that it was almost seven, he promptly invited the Hellers to stay for dinner and take potluck. Clark quietly added his encouraging to the invitation, and they were soon at table in the small dining room towards the rear of the house. 

Of course, ‘potluck’ at a Luthor’s table meant  _crème du Barry_ ,  pressed duck with cranberries, poached fillet of sole, veal olives, potted stilton with pear confit, and a blancmange so beautifully decorated it almost seemed a crime to break the surface. This was a trifle intimidating to the Hellers, but Lex was, as always, the consummate host; besides which, he did not have to feign interest in the doings of his guests. Furthermore, Mrs. Heller (Nancy, as she soon entreated to be called) was more than eager to share not just the events of the past year, when she had known her patron to be ill, but all the little details of her life and apprenticeship over the last six years with the man who had made it all possible, and towards whom she felt the liveliest sense of gratitude. 

Clark was, inevitably, a little left out of the conversation, because his interest in music was nowhere near that of his companions. Lex never really forgot his presence, and tried to draw him in periodically, but it was not easy when matters grew very technical, and Clark tried to make Lex understand, silently, that he was happy with things as they stood, and did not feel neglected. Although the detailed discussions of composers, performers and productions was rather beyond his ken, he found just as much entertainment in the backstage gossip Nancy and her young sister-in-law cheerfully purveyed as anyone else might have. 

Heller tended to be the retiring  type (“Just as any good accompanist should be,” Lex  remarked, half-jokingly, to Clark later on), but when the conversation turned on contemporary music and modern trends, he came alive. Like Lex, he was a fervent admirer of Beethoven and Weber, and since Lex was undeniably out of touch as a result of his prolonged illness, Heller had much to tell him of the newer composers appearing on the scene, and of recent works by established figures. Lex was particularly interested to hear of the Nocturnes of the Irish pianist and composer John Field. He had known that the man had a prodigious reputation as a soloist and was a very popular composer in Russia where he had lived for many years now, but what Heller had to say on the emerging synthesis of style between instrumental and vocal music, and  Field’s part in it  intrigued Lex greatly. 

Heller also warmly recommended that Lex take the time to discover the work of a young Sicilian composer, by name of Vincenzo Bellini, whose first commission for the prestigious La Scala Theatre in Milan was to be given its premiere later that same year. They talked, too, of the virtuoso interpreters, such as the Italian violinist Paganini, or the Hungarian pianist Franz Liszt, who were redefining the technical capabilities of their instruments and thus affecting the  way in which music for these instruments was being composed.

They did not linger over dinner, and afterwards returned to the music room, where the musical family was able to present examples of some of the new music Heller had talked about over dinner. The two women sang arias, duets, and songs, while Heller both accompanied, and sometimes played solo pieces, or arrangements of orchestral works, to demonstrate. Heller had a formidable memory, and had been carrying a hefty portfolio in any case, since his job as repetiteur required him to play enormous amounts of music for the ballet classes. 

Lex was soaking this up like a plant starved of water. It took Clark’s practised eye to see  that his small reserves of energy were finally draining away, and that only his passionate interest in the music was keeping him going. The artists were beginning to flag a little themselves, but like any artist meeting a genuinely informed connoisseur, they thrived on that interest.  Clark managed to catch Nancy’s eye, and discreetly indicated that she should be  thinking of taking her leave. She looked a little abashed, and nodded almost imperceptibly, then conveying to her husband and sister that their time was over. However, she had one last thing to say. 

“My lord, we’ve kept you late enough, and you have been so generous with your time and your attention, I don’t know how to begin to thank you.  Is there anything that you particularly  wish to hear?” 

Lex smiled a little.  “You sang ‘Che puro ciel’ for me.  For that, if for nothing else, I remain indebted,  and look forward to the day when I can hear you sing Orfeo on stage.” 

“It came from me, however, you did not specifically ask for it. Please, my lord, I would  have you  ask for something that would truly please you.” 

Lex shook his head slightly, still smiling quietly. “I think not.” 

“Are you sure, my lord?” she coaxed. 

He laughed faintly. “You’re a very persistent woman, Nancy. I appreciate the gesture,  however. If  there was one number I’d truly love to hear, we do not have the forces present. It’s a trio, not a duet or aria.” 

She sighed heavily. “Including some miserable tenor, no doubt.” 

“Nancy,” Heller said quietly, in a faintly –  very faintly  –  reproving tone. 

“I think I should start to feel sorry for the tenor species,” Lex said amusedly. “The rest of  you have never a good word to say for them. However, as it happens, no. The trio in question  is for bass and two sopranos.” 

“Oh, but Johann sings bass,” Nancy said brightly. “He’s not trained as we are, but he  helps us out in learning ensemble numbers, and he can sing and play simultaneously  and  accurately. He can hold his own, I assure you.” 

Lex hesitated. “I still doubt you’d know it. It’s Mozart, but the opera’s very rarely  performed  these days. It must be fifteen years or more since anyone’s staged it that I know of. In fact, I’ve never even seen it myself.” He rose, and went to one of his score cabinets, extract ing a thick tome from behind the glass-fronted  doors. “I purchased the score because I buy any operas of Mozart’s that I can find, and I’ve played through most of it, but I would give much to hear the whole work.” His tone was melancholy. “Alas, I can see for myself that it’s not  to the  taste of a modern audience.” 

He brought the score to the piano, and laid it open for the young artists to see. Heller made a little sound of surprise, and leafed through the pages quickly. 

“ _Così_ _fan tutte_?  Ah  –  Signor Garcia uses the Mozart operas as test pieces for his students, my lord. Anyone who has worked with Signor Garcia knows them, though you are quite correct in saying this one has not been performed much of late. A trio  – ‘Soave sia il vento’? Is that the one you meant?” 

“Yes,” Lex replied, wonderingly. 

“I am no Galli, but I sing true,” Heller said simply. “If you wish, we can do this for you.” 

Lex seemed strangely overwhelmed, looking from one face to the other of the three musicians before him. After a moment, he nodded, and retreated to his seat, but he looked around for Clark first. Clark had been keeping a discreet distance, but he came up swiftly now, leaning over Lex to hear what he had to say. 

Lex put a hand over Clark’s, where it lay on his shoulder. “Listen to this,” he murmured. “If there is any such thing as perfection in music, this is it.” 

Clark placed another chair beside Lex’s, and took a seat once more. Lex had rarely  asked him to listen specifically to any music  –  he tended rather to like to surprise him with it, if  he even bothered at all, being accustomed to what he called Clark’s habitual philistinism. That  he should do so now indicated something that Lex believed to be very special, and Clark was prepared to give it his full attention. 

The ladies needed to read from the score, so they flanked Heller, and a rare stillness descended on the room as they prepared to perform. 

The accompaniment rustled softly, calm and reposeful. The two luminous female voices twined in close, graceful arabesques, while the male, bass voice, provided a strong counterpoint that frequently carried the melody in itself. True to their promise, Heller could sing. He  lacked the warmth of timbre and the variety of colour of the women, but his voice was pleasing, his tone was true and flexible, and he could play at the same time, which Clark thought was even more remarkable. He knew nothing about the piece, save that it was both melancholy and serene, and one of the loveliest things he had ever heard, while Lex was barely a breath away from tears, his eyes preternaturally bright as the final chord dissipated into silence.

“Thank you,” he said, after a long, still moment, his voice just a trifle hoarse. 

There were no other appropriate words. The Hellers took their leave, deferentially, and Clark saw them from the house, ensuring a hansom was called to convey them to their lodgings, promising that they would stay in touch, and surely attend any performances Mrs. Heller succeeded in securing. 

When he returned to the music room, Lex was seated at the piano, picking out certain bars of the music they had just heard. Clark stood back, watching, for a few moments. Had Lex been really playing, Clark would not have interrupted him for the world, but he was not even using  both hands, so he approached, placed his own hands on Lex’s shoulders, and began  kneading gently at the tension he felt therein. 

“You’re burnt to a socket, Lex,” he said quietly, after several minutes. “I hadn’t meant for things to go on this long.” 

“I’m glad of it,” Lex said quietly. “I’d forgotten what it felt like, to be that involved.” 

“You’re still exhausted.” 

“Yes – but it feels good, not like before, when I was just drained.” He let his hands fall  away from the keys, and put his head back  to rest it against Clark’s chest, eyes closing. A faint  smile touched his lips. 

“Just how far did you prime Nancy?” 

“Prime her?” Clark asked innocently. 

“I know you must have told her something before bringing her here. She didn’t react to  my appearance  in the slightest, so either she’s a far better actress than I give her credit for  being,  or else you warned her in advance.” 

“She asked after your health, Lex, so I told her,” Clark said mildly. “Has it not occurred to you yet that you’re over-refining on your altered appearance?” 

“No, not really,” he returned bluntly.  


“Well, you are. Yes, you’ll attract a second look wherever you go, but it will be for all  the right reasons. Besides, you always did anyway, and don’t tell me you weren’t aware of it.”

“Are you calling me vain, Kent?” 

“If the shoe fits....” 

Lex’s eyes opened, and he saw Clark laughing silently down at him. “I get no respect from you,” he sighed despondently. 

Clark grinned, and dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “No, I know you too well now.” 

He placed his thumbs to either side of Lex’s spine, just at the base of his neck, and  applied gentle pressure in small, circular movements. Lex made a sound of appreciation, bowing his head and flexing his neck in response. 

“What was that piece?” Clark asked, after a moment. “I mean, I understand it was from a Mozart opera, but what was happening?” 

“Two young women and a family friend wish calm seas and a prosperous voyage to the ship that is taking the girls’ fiancés  away on a long journey,  and pray for their safe return.” 

“Ah – that’s why the accompaniment has that little rocking figure, like small waves.” 

“In full orchestral guise, I think you’d find it gives more an impression of summer breezes, but that’s not to say your notion is mistaken.” 

“It was lovely, I can see why you like it so much. Why is the opera not much performed, if all the music is that good?” 

“It’s too complicated for today’s frivolously minded audiences,” Lex said dryly. 

“I’ve seen some pretty intricate goings on in the theatre,” Clark objected mildly. “The audience seemed to both enjoy it, and have little trouble following what was happening.” 

Lex grinned. “Not that kind of complicated, where the hero is rescued from shipwreck  by a fisher-maid who turns out to be the kidnapped daughter of the Sultan, who in reality is a clever usurper introduced to the royal nursery decades earlier by a pair of mercenary rogues whose son is the pirate chief who covets the heroine and was responsible for her kidnapping,  and who confided her to the care of his elderly nanny who is really the usurper’s mother and knows precisely where to find the true heir, who of course turns out to be the hero, who....” 

Clark was doubled over with laughter. “Stop, stop!” he begged, gasping. “How do you  do  that? It all makes perfect sense in the theatre.” 

This was not the first time Lex had mercilessly lampooned the plots of the popular entertainment of the day, whether it be in play or opera form.

“It’s a gift,” Lex smiled. 

Clark sat down beside him on the piano stool, front to back, shoulder to shoulder, and considered him with affection. 

“So – complicated in what way, if not in that way?” 

“ _Così_ _fan tutte_ –  So Do They All, is the translation. Or rather, since the title is aimed at  the fair sex, So Are All Women. It’s a piece about lies; those we tell to ourselves to justify our  very existence, and those we tell to others, whether to make life easier, or to manipulate them. Even that beautiful trio is a lie. The girls think their lovers are sailing away to rejoin their regiments on the battlefield, but the old friend knows better, because he has made a bet with the young men that their ladies are not the chaste, faithful, perfect goddesses they are proclaimed to be by their adoring swains. Yet where, in that music of such sublime serenity, is there the least hint of the cruel duplicity that is to follow? Nowhere. No, I can understand, in a  way, why it’s no longer in the repertory, though I regret it. It’s a disconcerting piece, and holds  a mirror up to the audience with a reflection of painful clarity, all of it clothed in the most  exquisite of harmonies. Perhaps, simply, it’s ahead of its time, and will find its place one day.” 

“Are you trying to say something to me?” Clark asked softly. 

“Such as?”  


“Something about relationships built on lies?” 

Lex shook his head slowly. “I doubt I need to. Now that I know, I can see the strain it  has placed you under, for so many years, and I can understand the whys and wherefores. I  admit I’m glad you chose to tell me, though.” 

“I knew I had to, if we were to progress,” he said simply. 

“And have we?”  


“You tell me.” They were both teasing a little now. 

“You think I let just anyone call me vain?” 

Clark laughed, even as Lex leant against him, with a tired smile.  “Come on,” Clark urged gently. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

“No, my mind is too active.” 

“A game of chess? Though if you nod off half-way  through, I give you fair warning that  I’ll cheat, and move the pieces.” 

“Since that’s the only possible way you could win, I imagine I’d have to forgive you for such a desperate move. No, not chess, either.” He sat in thought for a moment, then looked up again with bright eyes. “Take me flying.” 

Clark blinked at him, then shook his head slightly. “You  would  wait until we’re in the middle of town to ask,” he sighed, and stood. Lex’s face fell, but Clark merely nudged his shoulder. “Come along, then. You need to get changed, as do I.” 

“Why changed?” 

“I told you, it’s too cold out there, especially when flying. In addition, I don’t wish to risk  being seen. You need to change into black, from head to toe. And, speaking of head  – ” he eyed the pale dome of Lex’s head thoughtfully. 

“I don’t like that look,” Lex said warily. “I do have hats.” 

“That won’t do. You need something that’s going to stay on your head. Well, we’ll see what we can contrive.” 

Lex followed him up the stairs to their rooms, silently amused. Raffaele was excused for the night, and Clark went to his own room to change while Lex considered his options. He did not possess a black shirt; that was an affectation with which he had never held. However, he did have a long, black, frock coat which buttoned up to the neck, and a close-fitting, fine, wool shirt underneath that would not show. Black stocks for his neck he had aplenty, nor were trousers any problem. Then he had a sudden thought, and went into the dressing room to look in one of the trunks, which was where Clark found him a few minutes later. 

“What are you...?” 

Lex straightened up, with a large bundle in his hands. “You said dress for warmth. I just  remembered  something.” He shook out the bundle, dislodging several sheets of silk paper. “What do you think of this?” 

Clark gaped. In his hands, Lex held an ankle-length, hooded coat of pure black sable, fastened down the front with black frogs. Awed, he reached out to touch the soft fur reverently. 

“Lord, that’s magnificent!” he breathed. “Where did you get it?” 

“My father-in-law, of course. There’s no one quite like the Russians for furs. I have a  wolf-skin,  too, but the fur is too pale for this expedition.” He unfastened the frogs. “See, it’s  lined in a blend of silk and cashmere, which is very warm, too. There are gloves to go with it somewhere...  ah, here they are.” He had found them tucked in the pockets of the coat.

“I think that should do nicely,” Clark approved, “only you need an extra scarf or something for your face.” 

Lex gave him a  slanted look. “I wasn’t asking you to take me on any of your thief-catching expeditions, you know.” 

“I know, but quite aside from the question of not being recognised, you’re very pale,  Lex, your skin will catch the light easily, and secondly, I think you’ll  be rather glad of something  to protect your face  a little when we’re travelling. You don’t need to keep it up all the time. Like this.” He demonstrated with the black kerchief tied loosely around his own neck. 

“You had a hat when Portenoy saw you on the Heath,” Lex said, mildly accusingly. 

“It’s possible over short distances, but generally I find it’s more bother than it’s worth. Come on, Lex, or are we going to stand around jawing all night,” he said, good-naturedly  impatient  now. “I suppose  you do know a way to sneak out into the garden without being seen  by any of the staff?” 

Lex grinned. “I can show you the back stairs, but you’re the one who can see through walls.” He put the fur coat on and caught up another black stock, which he put  on in imitation  of Clark’s  kerchief.  “This is ridiculous, I feel like a child about to sneak out of the house to steal  the gardener’s  prize apples at dead of night.” His earlier weariness seemed to have dropped  away. 

Clark chuckled. “Did you?” 

“Oh, yes.” 

“Did you get caught?” The scornful look Lex threw him made him snicker. “Come on,”  he said instead. 

Lex was exceedingly entertained to discover that when Clark was looking  _through_ things, he had a distinct tendency to walk  _into_ them. After a minute or so of this, Lex just took his arm and guided him, until they were out in the garden, and had disappeared from view of the house behind a hedge towards the rear. 

“You can stop laughing now,” Clark said dryly.  


Lex gave him an innocent look. “I did not, not once.” 

“You are on the inside, I can tell.” 

“Oh, well, if a fellow can’t laugh on the inside.... Oh, God!” 

Clark had put his arms around Lex, and was levitating swiftly above the roofs of the town. Lex clung to him, wildly startled. He was even more taken aback when Clark took one arm away in order to raise his hood, and clung a little more tightly still. 

Clark stopped, well above the glow of the street-lamps.  “It’s all right, Lex. You weigh almost nothing to me.” 

“This  is perhaps  not the ideal moment to tell you I have a slight problem with heights,”  Lex said, in a very small voice. 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! You couldn’t have mentioned this earlier?” 

“You wouldn’t have agreed to take me flying.” 

“And I’m taking you straight back if it’s going to make you ill!” 

“No.” He took a deep, calming breath. “No, I want this, please.” 

Clark studied him, and used his free hand to stroke Lex’s cheek lightly. “I’ve never taken  anyone flying, not deliberately.  You’re the first.” 

“Not deliberately?” 

“I have twice flown someone away from a scene of trouble. They were unconscious at the time, however,” he smiled. 

“Convenient.”  


“As you say. Do you think you’re ready to look down now?” Lex chuckled faintly. “You see right through me.” “Sometimes,” Clark smiled back.  


“It would be easier if I let go, wouldn’t it?” 

“It would certainly be easier if you’d let me shift you to the side. You could keep one arm around my shoulders, or my waist.” 

Lex was silent for a moment.  “I am trying very hard not to think that I’m standing on thin air.”

“Trust me, Lex,” Clark said softly. “I will not let you fall, no matter how high we go.” 

Slowly, Lex loosened his grip on one shoulder, and slid his other arm around Clark’s  neck,  not too tightly. Clark moved him carefully to the side, arm strong around Lex’s waist, so  that they floated, hip-to-hip, shoulder-to-shoulder, above the town. Clark had a moment of regret; Lex, in that rich fur coat, felt so good to hold, warm, soft and firm at the same time, almost like one of the plush toys with which Alexandra snuggled down to bed at night. He thought about telling him that, but then bit his tongue to hold back a laugh. Lex would be extremely indignant at being compared to a plush toy. 

“Do you see London?” he asked instead. 

“Never having seen it from this elevation, I can’t say I do,” Lex said dryly. Clark could  feel the tension in him, he was still not entirely at ease, but he was trying. 

“Well, let’s move a little.” 

He drifted  them southwards slightly, and heard Lex’s faint exclamation. 

“The Thames – ah, that I recognise.” 

“It’s quite distinctive,” Clark agreed. 

“Do you get lost, up here?” Lex asked curiously. 

“I have done so, but I’ve learnt to recognise certain landmarks,  in places, like the  Thames’ distinctive serpentine shape. Where would you like to go now?” 

“I don’t know. Where you will.” 

“All right. We’ll take a little trip out to the country.” 

At this point, Clark was not flying very fast, and Lex could see the countryside flow past beneath him. A few minutes later, Clark stopped. They were at the coast, and the sea spread out before them. The night was not clear over England, and it was hard to distinguish features, but the water seemed to capture an invisible light, and sparkled darkly. 

“Where are we?” Lex asked.  


“You don’t recognise the White Cliffs of Dover?” Clark teased mildly. 

“I can barely see them,” Lex returned tartly. 

“Shall we go somewhere where the night is clearer? Put your mask on, we’ll be moving much faster.” 

As Lex used his free hand to comply, Clark swung him easily up into his arms. Lex gave a startled exclamation. 

“Are you  carrying  me?” he queried, his tone slightly indignant. 

“It’s easier to transport you this way at speed.” 

“I have two perfectly serviceable legs, you know.” 

Clark chuckled. “What good are legs at half a mile above the earth, Lex? Though, that they’re perfect, I agree completely.” 

Lex put his head back and gave Clark an extremely wry look.  “Your sense of timing is deficient, Kent.” 

Clark just grinned. “Hold tight.” 

Two minutes later, he set Lex down onto a stone surface that still held a hint of the heat  of the day’s sun, and they were looking out over a tumbled chaos of stones, and a  moonlit panorama of an exquisite bay. Inland, a distinctive conical shape loomed in the background, a tiny plume of white drifting up from its peak. 

“Where are we?” Lex asked, wondering. 

“In the ruins of the Greek theatre at Taormina, in Sicily. That’s Etna, over there, of course. Have you been here?” 

“No, I never came further south than Naples. Good God, imagine hearing the Greek  classics with such a backdrop!”  he exclaimed, clearly delighted. 

“With the heat of the sun gone, one doesn’t smell it  any more, but at the height of the  day, the air is filled with the scent of citrus. I love this place. The locals think it’s haunted, of course, or at least, that’s what I’ve gathered, so they never come up here at night, and it’s safe for me.” 

Lex had  pushed his hood back, and pulled down the scarf that shielded his face. “Where else do you like to go?” 

“Oh, I’ve found all sorts of strange places. I don’t think I could begin to answer that.” 

“Then how far have you gone?”

“To places that are barely  charted as yet. I know the highest peak on the planet, though it  has not been recognised as such, to the best of my knowledge. I’ve seen the Forbidden Palace in Peking. Don’t ask me to take you there just now,” he smiled, “it will be well past dawn, and the place is absolutely crawling with guards, functionaries and servants. It’s very, very difficult to go unseen. I could  take you to the ends of the Earth, to the Arctic or the Antarctic. I can take you to places in Africa that are on no map that I know of. If I knew how to let you breathe up there, I could show you the whole planet from so high up, you would see it as the beautiful, blue-green jewel  it is. What would you like to see, Lex?” His face shining, he spread his arms wide. “I offer  it all to  you.” 

“Take me  to the roof of the world. I would like to stand where no man has ever set  foot,” Lex said. 

Clark tenderly lifted the scarf around his face again, and put his hood back up over his head. 

“It can only be for a few minutes. You will be colder than you  have ever been, and the air is so thin you will find yourself struggling to breathe. Keep very close; my heat will keep you  as warm as possible.” 

He caught Lex up again, and they were away, speeding through the air. This time, Lex tried to look again, to see the ground pass under them, but they were travelling too fast, and  the wind brought chill tears to his eyes. He buried his face against Clark’s neck once more, and  relaxed in his safe embrace. He felt them come to land, but Clark did not let him down right away. Instead, there was a brief impression of searing heat, and then he felt Clark blow air out; only then was he set on his feet. Clark held him close for a moment longer, putting his head by  Lex’s. 

“I melted some of the snow, and then blew  away the water before it iced, so that we  would have a little secure footing. Don’t try to talk to me, Lex, the cold will steal the air from  your lungs, and breathe only lightly, and slowly.  We are a couple of hours before dawn, it’s  much lighter. I have you  –  turn and look. We are at the frontier of India and China, on top of  the highest place on Earth.” 

He turned, and looked, and was humbled. He knew the craggy splendour of the Alps; they were dwarfed a hundred-fold by these majestic heights. In the pearlescent light of the pre-dawn, frozen points stabbed at the sky in defiant challenge, but none surpassed that on which they stood. There was no sound, no movement, nothing but stillness. For one moment, he could imagine that he stood upon the Earth at the dawn of the third day of creation, just after the division of the waters and just before the creation of all things green and growing, when the land finally lay exposed, a blank and astonishing canvas on which life was yet to sprawl in all its turbulent splendour. He looked, for what seemed like both an eternity and like  the blink of an eye, and then Clark drew him in again, and they were off once more.

When next he was set down, it was warm, a warmth he thought his body had almost forgotten, exposed to the intense cold of those lofty heights as he had been, for however short a time. It was darker once more, they had clearly come west again, but the night was crystal clear, and not too far away, two giant stone heads emerged from great dunes of sand. He pulled down his mask, and pushed back his hood once more. 

“Abu Simbel.” His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat. “We’re in Egypt.” 

Clark eased his hold, nodding. “I thought we needed some warmth, after that. It’s not  high season yet, the temperatures are still pleasant. Cold enough in the desert that you need  your coat still, but readily tolerable, I think. However, we can’t go too close, unfortunately. The  area is constantly full of nomads, and I swear they never sleep! I remembered you being interested  in Burckhardt’s travels and discoveries, though. I thought you might like to see this  for yourself.” 

“It’s just like the drawings,” Lex wondered, then turned eagerly to Clark. “If you’ve  followed Burckhardt, can you show me Petra? This is interesting enough, but despite the sketches, I have never quite managed to conceive the reality of that great city carved into a  cliff.” 

Clark smiled, nodding. “I can take you to Petra. We’ll need to be careful there, too.  Local tribes live within the precincts, but I think we can get close enough without being ob served.” 

Moments later, Lex stared up in awe at the rose-red, Byzantine façade. Clark had brought them down just at the mouth of the narrow canyon that gave access to the site, and they clung to the shadow of the cliffs, to avoid detection, but it was worth it, though Lex was a little nervous of the scuttling scorpions their slow approach disturbed. However, they made no missteps, Clark being very cautious of their path, and he was able to stand and stare to his  heart’s content. He had always loved to travel, but had long been resigned to the fact that  there were places that would forever be beyond his reach, unless he was prepared to sacrifice much of his life back home to his wanderlust. To be offered these sights in such an extraordinary fashion was something that he could never have imagined for himself. 

When he had looked his fill, he merely turned back to Clark, pressing close, silent, no words sufficing to express what he felt. Clark understood, picked him up once more, and rose  swiftly up into the night. Lex closed his eyes and laid his head against Clark’s shoulder, arms  wrapped around his neck. Clark held him closer, and Lex sensed that they had slowed a little. The wind plucking at his furs was less harsh, though still chilly, and he felt as if floating in a  dream. He opened his eyes again, to watch Clark’s profile, and after a moment, Clark became  aware of his scrutiny and turned his head to smile warmly at Lex. 

“I love you,” Lex said very distinctly, the words welling forth without reserve.

Clark’s smile widened into an enormous grin, and his grip on Lex tightened noticeably. “Hold on!” he called out, and proceeded to fly in a series of large, exuberant  loops, almost skimming the surface of the waves at the lowest point, whooping gleefully all the time. He fortunately resumed a level course before Lex succumbed to motion sickness. 

His smile now, as he glanced at Lex, was pure wickedness, and Lex, shaking just a little, slightly from shock, but mostly with laughter, showed his teeth with mock-ferocity. 

“Wretched brat!” he shouted above the wind.  Clark just laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	10. In Which Rumours Are Heard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark begins to adapt to the realities of being a powerful man's secretary, and hears certain things that do not please him.

By the time they returned to London, weariness was catching up with Lex rapidly. The exhilaration had worn off, and all that was left was a man who was not quite fully recovered from a prolonged illness, and who had had a long and somewhat fatiguing day, both physically and emotionally. Clark could feel it in the weight of his body. Rather than setting him on his own two feet, Clark continued to carry him until they were back in his bedroom. 

“What did I say about serviceable legs?” Lex grumbled faintly as he was set back upon  his feet. 

“I only agreed that they were perfect. You wouldn’t have made it past the first flight of stairs,” Clark teased, unfastening the fur coat for him. “Be good, and let me get you into bed.” 

“Willingly,” Lex purred. 

Clark groaned. “And you have the nerve to call me a wretched brat. You’re a tease, Lex. Your libido finally comes back within hailing distance, and I know perfectly well you’re too damned tired to do anything about it!” 

Lex gave a choke of laughter. “Hailing distance –  really!”  


“You created the analogy,” Clark defended, grinning, continuing to unfasten Lex’s  clothing.

“Evidently you’re never going to let me live it down.”  


“Well, it was kind of elegant, in its way, if discouraging.”  


Lex stopped his movements, one hand gentle in his hair. “Has it been very difficult?” 

“Waiting for you? No. I just want to be with you, in whatever way I can contrive, even if you never took me back into your bed. If you weren’t ready, that was all there was to be said. I would have waited indefinitely.” 

“I don’t deserve you.” 

Clark touched his lips to Lex’s reverently. “If you do not, then I would be alone forever, because I have never met anyone who fulfils me as you do. I don’t want to be alone, Lex.” 

Lex stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Please, enough of  the wide eyes and  pouting lips. I am vanquished. I am yours.”

“You can be mine in the morning. For now, you’re going to bed.” 

“Alone?” 

“I thought we just agreed...” 

“If you have plans for me in the morning, you had better be  there  in the morning, had  you not?” 

“Good point,” Clark agreed docilely, then laughed softly. “You think rings around me, Lex. There’s no one like you.” 

Lex yawned hugely. “Tell me again in the morning,” he mumbled, drowsily removing  the last of his clothing. When Clark  handed him his nightshirt, he tossed it aside impatiently. “I just need you,” he said, and climbed into his bed. 

Clark blinked, then laughed again, stripped off instantly, and climbed in beside Lex after drawing the hangings around the bed. Lex turned on his side, his back to Clark, and reached for  Clark’s hand, which he drew over him. Clark hugged him closer, so that they were spooned  together, and pulled the covers snugly around them both. He could already feel Lex relaxing into sleep. 

However, that ever-agile mind was not quite done yet. 

“Clark?” he said drowsily. 

“Mmh?” 

“I need to start practising again. You have to get me a set of the Clementi exercises in the morning.” 

Clark bit his lip in order not to laugh. Music. It was a good thing music was not an actual, living, breathing person, otherwise he would not have stood a chance with Lex. 

“Clark?”  


“Mmh?”  


“Are you all right?”  


“Yes, Lex. Clementi, in the morning. Got it.” 

“And maybe those Field Nocturnes.” 

“Yes, Lex.” 

“Thank you.” 

That, however, just melted Clark’s heart again, and he kissed Lex’s neck tenderly. “You’re welcome. Now go to sleep.” 

Whatever seductive plans either young man might have had for the morning were curtailed by the fact that both slept in rather later than their usual hour. They were awoken  only by Raffaele drawing back the hangings on his master’s bed with a cheery “ _Buongiorno,_ _monsignore_ ,”  which he promptly corrected to “ _signori_ ,” without batting an eyelid, on seeing the  dark head on  the pillow alongside Lex’s. 

Clark gave an undignified squeak, and attempted to disappear under the bedclothes. 

Lex merely opened one eye lazily, and mumbled, “Be a good fellow, and go away for half an hour, Raffaele.” 

“Of course, my lord,” the valet  agreed affably. 

He let the hangings fall to again, and a moment later, a door could be heard closing. He had, however, opened the curtains, and the darkness inside the bed was not so complete. Lex contemplated the lump beside him amusedly. During their liaison, he had romped with Clark in almost every room of Rutherford Park, not to mention the summerhouse, and on the very shores of the lake, outside, but nothing on earth would persuade Clark into intimate relations once Raffaele had entered the bedroom in the morning. Lex had, on occasion, pointed out that if Clark was under the impression that any of the staff was unaware of the nature of their relationship, he was severely mistaken. Nevertheless, morning sex, after the valet had brought the water and opened the curtains, was something in which Clark resolutely refused to indulge. Evidently, given his current position under the sheets, that had not changed in six years. 

“Oh, get out from under there!” Lex said exasperatedly. “He’s gone for the  moment,  and I promise not to debauch you.” 

“I have no objections to you debauching me,” came the muffled voice, clearing as Clark emerged, “just not with your man right next door.” 

Lex regarded him fondly. “You really haven’t changed much.” 

Clark blushed,  but smiled back impishly. “Why improve on perfection?”

Lex gave a shout of laughter, and pounced on him, remembering with devastating accuracy just where his ticklish spots were. 

He could have used that to seduce Clark into something more  –  he had certainly done so before  –  but he knew it would only make Clark uncomfortable in the long run, so he contented himself with tickling Clark into panting submission, and then lying over him, studying him affectionately, and letting his fingers toy with Clark’s  black locks. 

Though he would not readily admit it, Lex rather liked the way that Clark had simply  staked his claim. He had come back into Lex’s life, and while he was prepared to be patient, he  was evidently not prepared to be set aside again. He was more assured than the eighteen year-old Lex had first met, and he took his place by Lex as if by right. Indeed, it did feel right. Since coming to London, they had, by a sort of tacit agreement, resumed the subtle flirting that had marked their initial  acquaintance. Both had known it was only a matter of time, and of Lex’s  health, before full relations were resumed, and Clark had been growing increasingly tactile with Lex, stealing teasing kisses every so often, touching more frequently and more readily. Six years had barely touched him physically, but that increased assurance had refined his manner somewhat. Although he could still trip over his feet (whether literally or metaphorically) with all the endearing awkwardness of an enthusiastic puppy, on the whole he spoke, moved and acted with far greater self-confidence. 

The only thing Lex regretted was his lack of status, because it would cause some difficulties as Lex resumed public life. He had done what he could, knowing better than Clark did yet how significant it would be that Clark controlled access to Lex. He only hoped that Clark would realise to what extent he needed to exercise that control, and not let his tender heart be  wrought upon too easily. That he was Lex’s companion as well as  his secretary was going to occasion some talk, and Lex knew well enough that it would not be kind for Clark. He risked nothing himself, he was too nobly born and too rich, he could take his lovers where he pleased. No, all the gossip would be for Clark and much of it would be unpleasant, at least until Clark realised  –  or Lex taught him  –  that power was there to be used. Eventually, Lex hoped, he would be able to put Clark in a position to receive some recognition, in the form of a minor title, which would go some way to remedying their social inequality. 

“You’re plotting something,” Clark said drowsily. “I can hear the wheels turning.” 

Lex gave a snort of laughter. “They must be rusty from disuse. I’m more subtle than that, usually.” 

The arms  around him tightened, pulling him in closer once more. “Should I be concerned?"

“What, that my thought processes are rusty?” 

“No, that you’re plotting something?” 

“Yes.” 

“Ah. I see.” He cleared his throat a little. “All right, I’m concerned. Tell me about it.” 

“I was just thinking about how to go about getting you ennobled.” 

“What!” 

Lex chuckled. He enjoyed shocking Clark. 

“Lex...” 

“You don’t need to start panicking. It’s not going to happen for a while yet,” he said  soothingly. 

“It doesn’t need to happen at all!” 

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll earn it, but it will happen. I have decided it.” 

“You sound like the reincarnation of the Sun King.  _L’état, c’est moi_ ,”  Clark grumbled, put out. “Am I permitted to know how high I’m to ascend?” 

“Nothing extravagant, unless you wish otherwise. However, don’t you think Sir Clark Kent has a nice sound to it?” 

“Mr. Clark Kent suits me just fine, thank you.” 

Lex tugged at one dark curl. “You’re an ungrateful brat. Consider that it would make things quite a bit easier for both of us if you were at least minor nobility. Until then, you’re going to be hearing a lot of hard words about yourself, despite my best efforts.” 

Clark embraced him warmly. “As long as you don’t believe any of those  hard words, I  don’t care,” he said, his voice muffled against Lex’s shoulder. 

“Am I going to have to exercise a little emotional blackmail?” 

He could feel Clark grin against him. “And  just how  would you accomplish that?” 

“Think about how  the children might feel when they start mixing with their peers and hear repeated to them the words that family and servants alike use behind closed doors.  Children can be terribly cruel little beasts. I should know, I wasn’t exactly the picture of Chris tian charity  myself, and I always knew all the gossip. You can’t let them hear such nasty things said about their dearest, adored, Uncle Clark.”

Clark was torn between amusement and some concern, because Lex had a point. He  already loved Lex’s children; he sincerely  hoped that it was mutual, and he would indeed be bothered if they were upset by ill-natured gossip about him. 

“Just how are you planning on acquiring this elevation for me?” he asked suspiciously. 

“I told you, you’re going to earn it. I  shall simply find a way for you to make yourself extremely helpful to somebody significant in government, or next to the King  –  which is not necessarily the same thing. A small baronetcy would do nicely, some time in the next, oh, five to seven years or so. Nothing  extravagant, nothing precipitate.” Clark groaned softly, but Lex just grinned. “If you had an ounce of ambition yourself....” 

“Who needs ambition with someone like you in his life?” Clark countered. “You have enough for the two of us, and to spare.” 

“I’ll not argue with that.” 

There was a silence, then a chuckle, and Clark raised his head to kiss Lex fleetingly.  “Good morning, Lex,” he said sweetly. 

Lex laughed back at him, and put up his hands to hold Clark’s head, and draw him in for  a proper, slow, lingering kiss. However, all was not perfect. 

“Ow,” Lex complained. “Lord, your stubble’s like sandpaper! I don’t remember it being that harsh before.” 

“Sorry,” Clark said, abashed. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.” 

There was the rush of a slight breeze, and Lex was abruptly alone in the bed. Startled, he sat up and, after a moment, started counting silently. He had barely reached thirty when there was another breeze and suddenly Clark was back, his arms around Lex, rubbing one cheek gently against his. 

“Is that better?”  


“Much,” Lex approved. “How on earth did you manage that?” 

“Speed, and a few years’ of practice, of course.” 

Lex put up a hand to stroke Clark’s face, which was now smooth and just a little warm,  quite as if freshly shaven. 

“Amazing. You really weren’t that rough before, though, were you?” 

“No. My hair has grown tougher over the years. I don’t visit the barber’s anymore, ordinary scissors don’t work.” 

“How do you do it?”  


“Well, I burn the stubble off...” 

“Burn...!” 

“It’s all right, Lex, I told you, my skin doesn’t burn. Besides, I don’t use ordinary fire, but  the heat my eyes put out. I reflect the beam off a mirror. It took a little practice, as I said, but  it’s become automatic now. As to my hair, I made a rather special pair of scissors. They’re  diamond. Even then I need to renew the edge almost  every time.” 

“You can  make  diamond?” 

“It’s not exactly complicated. You know the theory yourself. I start with coal, and end  up with raw diamond.  Oh, it could never be used for jewellery, it’s not  that  kind of diamond,  but it still has all the elemental qualities. With a razor edge on it, it’s the only thing that will cut my hair now.” 

“Well, that explains the permanently slightly dishevelled look,” Lex sighed. “Fortu nately, it suits you, and is close enough to the fashionable windswept to pass. You really are  the most amazing creature.” 

“I’m not a creature,” Clark pouted. 

Lex kissed him apologetically. “No, you’re not. You’re Ganymede, and  my guardian  angel.” 

Clark just smiled, and returned Lex’s kiss warmly. He broke off, however (to Lex’s  regret), when Raffaele made a reappearance, with plenty of noise to signal his arrival. When the valet reopened the bed-hangings, both young men were sitting up against their pillows, decorously  concealed by the linens, and with innocent expressions that taxed Raffaele’s self-possession to a considerable extent. Raffaele was carrying Clark’s robe, and Clark, halfway  between amusement and embarrassment, took it from him, putting it on even as he sat in bed, so that he would be decently covered when he emerged from between the sheets. 

“I see you have shaved already, Mr. Kent,” Raffaele said. “You do realise there is no  need, I would be pleased to do it for you  – as I have tried to tell you several times before.” 

Clark just smiled at him, sliding out of bed. “I’m used to looking after myself, Raffaele, though thank you for the offer. Please don’t concern yourself with my needs. I’m sure you  have  enough on your hands with your master,” he added wickedly, with a sly glance at Lex.

Lex shot him a mock baleful glare, then pointed a finger at him. “Longman’s,” he  reminded him haughtily. 

Clark sighed. “Longman’s.  After  breakfast!” He disappeared  into his own room, via the connecting dressing room. 

Clark rather enjoyed shopping, though he would have denied it had anyone asked. He liked the opportunity it gave him to get out around town, to wander into new areas looking for odd objects, as well  as the social contact it afforded. He had been to Longman’s, the music  publishers, years earlier, looking for a birthday present for Lex, but not since they had returned to town. However, he chanced upon the same attendant who had served him back then, and who remembered him quite clearly. The shop was all too happy to reopen the Rutherford  account, and he walked out again with the first volume of Clementi’s  _Gradus ad Parnassum_ under his arm, and a firm promise that the other two would be delivered by the end of the day. The assistant had also promised to procure the required Field Nocturnes, and had wondered if his lordship would be interested in taking certain works on approval once more. Clark suggested that he should wait until hearing from his lordship again, though he had little doubt that matters would be resumed as they had been very shortly. From Longman’s,  Clark went on to  Bond Street. 

It was now a full month since Lex had returned to London. While he had no wish for his recovery to be witnessed, and Fouchécourt was discreet by nature, never mind by necessity, Lex had not actually required secrecy of him. The word had quickly spread that Rutherford was back, and that if you wanted news of him, Clark Kent was the man to ask. When Clark went shopping, or when he went for a stroll in the park with the children and their nursemaids, he was regularly accosted, often by almost perfect strangers, with requests for the latest bulletin  on Lex’s health. This never bothered him, and he was usually  happy to oblige. However, this last couple of weeks, an odd tone had entered these enquiries, something Clark found very difficult to define. Several people seemed to be pussyfooting around another question that they dared not quite ask, and Clark was not sure he liked the impression he was getting. Then again, he had nothing concrete on which to base his doubts, and so he had said nothing to Lex. Yet another instance of this awkward conversational shuffle had occurred this morning, putting him in a frown of concentration, so that he was quite to blame when he collided with a small party just outside Rundell & Bridge. 

“Oh! Pray forgive me, ma’am, entirely my fault,” he stammered apologetically, bending  to pick up the little parcels the lady had dropped.  “Allow me to – Lana!” 

“Clark?” She burst out laughing. “Head in the clouds, as ever!” she chided fondly. “How lovely to see you.” 

He took in the rest of her party, and greeted them appropriately. “Lady Potter. It has  been a little while,  but I see the years have no hold on you.” 

“Kind of you, Mr. Kent,” she said amiably, as he bowed over her hand. She had always  been a little ambivalent about him, but there was no denying he was an exceptionally handsome young man, and he could turn a pretty compliment when required. 

“Fordman,” Clark smiled, offering his hand to Lana’s husband. 

The major shook it warmly. They had become good friends over the years. “Good to see you, Kent.” 

“Have you been in town long?” Clark asked of the young couple. 

“No, we arrived the day before yesterday,” Lana replied. “It’s such a coincidence to see  you right at this moment. We were just debating whether or not to call on Rutherford, but Aunt Nell was telling us that Lex has been in seclusion ever since returning to London, and that  by all accounts, you are the man to ask for news of him.” 

Clark nodded. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. I’m Lex’s secretary now.” 

“So is it also true that you’re living with him again?” she asked eagerly. “For good?” 

“Lana!” Lady Potter remonstrated feebly. 

Clark blushed, but nodded again. “I hope so, at any rate,” he said honestly. 

“Good,” she said, unequivocally pleased at the news. “Now I  know  there’s nothing in those nasty rumours.” 

Clark looked at her sharply.  “What ru – ” 

He stopped abruptly, for a small, dapper, middle-aged man, with a sallow face, thin  moustache, and sharp little eyes had just appeared at Lady Potter’s elbow. 

“Good morning, Lady Potter,” he said briskly. 

She started slightly, but recovered promptly, and curtseyed briefly in response to his  slight bow. “Good morning, Colonel MacMahon.” 

“Delightful morning, is it not? Pray introduce me to these charming young folk.”

“I believe you have already met my niece, Lana, and her husband, Major Fordman.” 

“Why, of course, do forgive me.” He bowed low –  rather exaggeratedly, Clark thought  – over Lana’s hand. “How could I have forgotten the beautiful Mrs. Fordman? I trust I find you well?” 

“Quite well, thank you, Colonel.” 

“Major Fordman.” 

“Sir.” 

“And this is Mr. Kent,” Lady Potter completed the introductions. “Mr. Kent, this is Colonel MacMahon. The Colonel is His Majesty’s private secretary.” 

Clark bowed respectfully.  


“Mr. Kent, eh? You’re Rutherford’s new secretary, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Clark had the feeling MacMahon had known perfectly well who he was before coming up to speak with them, but had profited from their mutual acquaintance with Lady Potter to force a formal introduction. 

“Good. I’ve been meaning  to get a hold of you. His Majesty is most concerned regard ing Lord Rutherford’s state of health.” 

“His lordship is doing very well, sir, and is almost fully recovered now.” 

“Fully recovered, eh? Well, well, that’s good to hear. I won’t scruple to tell  you, Mr.  Kent, that His Majesty has heard some mighty peculiar stories of late.” 

Clark narrowed his eyes a little, but forced himself to answer civilly. “Has he, sir? Whatever they may have been, I’m sure they’re grossly exaggerated. There have been  some slight, um, physical consequences to Lord Rutherford’s  illness, but nothing momentous, and certainly no other permanent effects, I can assure you.” 

“No, ah, mental incapacity? He has been in isolation a long time.” 

Clark gritted his teeth. “Lord  Rutherford was very weak, after prolonged confinement to  his bed. He chose not to be gawked at while recovering his strength, but that’s nearly done, 

now. I think you may look forward to seeing him resume his social engagements very shortly.” 

“Excellent,  excellent. His Majesty will be pleased to hear it. Well, good-day to you, ladies,  gentlemen.” 

The little party remained silent while the colonel trotted off, and then Clark gave Lana a speaking  look. “Mental incapacity? I take it  that  is the nature of the rumour to which you were  referring?” 

Fordman put a hand on Clark’s arm, lightly. “This is not the kind of thing we need to be  discussing  out in the street, Kent,” he said quietly. “Abernethy’s is just across there. Let us  adjourn for a coffee,  if you have the time.” 

“For this, I have the time,” Clark said coolly, though inside he was seething. 

Five minutes later, they were comfortably settled in one of Abernethy’s morning par lours, with orders for hot beverages and toasted teacakes delivered to their table. Lana looked troubled, her dark eyes wide and concerned, the slightest of tremors visible in her lower lip. 

“Clark, I didn’t mean to upset you,” she began earnestly, in a low tone. “I knew it couldn’t be true, but there has been talk....” 

“If you’re going to be irate at anyone,” Lady Potter cut in crisply, “then it had better be  at me, and not at poor Lana, because she was only repeating the  _on-dits_ I have passed on to her since she came to town. Frankly, however, Mr. Kent, if you  haven’t heard the whispers for yourself, then you are not doing your job properly, because they’ve been going the rounds for a couple of weeks.” 

Clark forced himself to relax. He was angry, but it certainly was not directed at any of the parties present.  “Forgive me, ma’am. I have been aware for a couple of weeks that something wasn’t quite right, but everyone I’ve spoken to has been tiptoeing around it, and I couldn’t get a handle on whatever it was. Colonel  MacMahon is the first to come out and say it  bluntly.” 

“Blunt  or no, you may be sure that it is an accurate expression of His Majesty’s  own  thoughts on the matter. The Colonel is his faithful reflection.” 

“I suppose so. I hadn’t realised, though.... Lady Potter, as God is my witness, there  is nothing,  nothing  wrong with Lord Rutherford’s wits!” 

“I believe you, Mr. Kent,” she said calmly. “However, you must persuade  Rutherford to come out of seclusion, and sooner, rather than later. Only his actual presence can quell these insidious rumours.” 

“I’d dearly love to know the source,” Clark muttered darkly.

“As to that,” she took a sip of her tea, “I could hazard a guess, but a guess is all it would be.” 

“I’ll entertain even the wildest suppositions just now, ma’am.” 

She sipped at  her tea again. “I have rarely seen Lionel as  aggravated  as he is currently,” she said, obliquely. “Only when Rutherford signed up, was he this  irritated. I gather that he is particularly vexed  at having been denied access to his grandson.” 

For just a moment, Clark felt nauseated enough to regurgitate all his meals all the way  back to the previous morning’s breakfast. He controlled himself, however, and let the sweetness of his cocoa settle his stomach a little. Lana, sympathetic, put her small hand on his arm. 

“I am very sorry, Clark, I really did not intend to distress you so greatly.” 

He shook his head, and patted her hand gently. “No, no, please don’t worry. It is – probably better that I found out this way, from friends. However, if you’ll  forgive me, I think I should be getting back to Rutherford House. I think  – I see no reason why you shouldn’t come  round some afternoon later this week. Lex is usually occupied in the mornings, but tea in the afternoon is certainly a possibility. Thursday,  perhaps?” 

Lady Potter inclined her head graciously. “Thursday would be suitable.” 

“I’ll send confirmation later today, if I may, and if he decides otherwise, then I’ll let you know the alternatives, ma’am.” 

“Certainly. Please convey my best wishes  to Rutherford, and say that I am looking forward  to seeing him very soon.” 

“With pleasure, ma’am. Lana, Fordman, I hope to see you again presently.” 

He returned to St. James’ Square in a distressed frame of mind, which was not calmed  by discovering that Lex had just received visitors, whom he had consented to see. Simmons took Clark into the salon, where he found Lex with Charles Pyatt and a very elderly gentleman unknown to him. Lex looked up as he was introduced, and Clark could see instantly, from the lines around his mouth and eyes, that he was displeased. 

“Clark! I’m glad you’re back. You know Charles, of course.” 

Clark nodded, his taut expression relaxing, and shook hands with Pyatt. 

Lex continued, addressing the older man. “Sir,  this is Clark Kent, my secretary and confidant. Clark, let me introduce  you to His Grace, the Duke of Arundale.” 

“My grandfather,” Pyatt clarified, as Clark bowed to the duke. “His bark’s worse than  his bite  – mostly,” he said cheerfully. 

“Impudent pup!” Arundale growled. 

Charles ignored that, and added, “I’m afraid we rather descended on Lex  _à l’improviste_.  I had not realised you’re always out in the mornings.” 

“Usually Lex is engaged in the mornings,” Clark explained. 

Lex passed him a note.  “I got a reprieve today. It arrived just after you went out.” 

The note was from Fouchécourt, apologising for having to cancel their session, but adding that since Lex was making such excellent progress, he could well afford to take the odd day off. Clark took it in, nodding, but he was still very agitated, and Lex did not miss the signs. 

“Is something wrong, Clark?” 

“No –  yes  – I don’t rightly know. I-I  need to talk to you  – but it can wait,” he fumbled. 

Lex eyed him thoughtfully. “Does this  have anything to do with rumours concerning my  mental health, by any chance?” 

Clark gave him a shocked, wide-eyed look. 

“You may speak freely in front of His Grace and Charles,” Lex said calmly, “because that’s exactly why they’re here.” 

“Ho, wait a minute, that’s not why  I’m  here,” Pyatt objected mildly. “If you’d been feeling a bit more sociable, I’d have been here weeks ago. However, it is why my grandsire insisted on tagging along today.” 

“I don’t care for slander,” the old duke said crossly. “A coward’s weapon. I know we’re not well acquainted, Rutherford, but you’ve been a good friend to Charles here, so I thought I’d discover the truth of the matter for myself. Can’t say I see anything wrong with you, so far,” he  added casually. 

“There  is  nothing  wrong with Lord Rutherford!” Clark said hotly. 

Arundale just gave him a haughty look, but Lex reached up to pat his arm lightly.

“Calm down, Clark. Sit, and tell us what’s happened.” 

Clark took the stool at Lex’s side, and recounted the morning’s encounter with Colonel  MacMahon. 

“Odious little tick,” Arundale grumbled, when Clark had done. “MacMahon, boy, not you,” he added testily, at Clark’s startled look. “Though you’ve obviously got a few things to  learn about your job still. You should have picked this whisper up and scotched it right from the start, instead of letting it get as far as the King. You need to keep your ear closer to the  ground.” 

“That’s a little difficult, at his height,” Lex murmured faintly, who seemed to sense  that Clark was particularly embarrassed at this admonishment  –  as, indeed, he was, having heard it for the second time in the space of an hour. 

Arundale gave a bark of laughter, and Charles snorted, though he promptly gave Clark, who was red-faced, a slightly apologetic look. 

“No, there’s nothing wrong with your wits,” Arundale said to Lex, “and you can be sure I’ll let that be known as quickly as I know how. As to who is behind it,” he gave the younger man a shrewd look, “I’ll wager you have your own ideas on that point.” 

Clark had not mentioned Lady Potter’s theory, but Lex’s mouth thinned expressively. “At a guess, sir? My father.” 

“That’s my impression, too. I’ll be blunt, Rutherford, I don’t like your father...” 

“That makes two of us.” 

Arundale  gave a slight, satisfied smile. “Well, it’ll be my pleasure to throw sand into his  bearings,  but you need to start showing yourself in public. It’s the only sure way.” 

“I realise that, sir. I had more or less come to the conclusion that it was time, anyway.” “You want a little advice?”  
“Gladly, sir.” 

“It’s Easter, a week this Sunday.  Make your first appearance at the service at St.  George’s. It’s as public as you can get, but the occasion’s too solemn for the usual tittle-tattle.  Plus,  His Majesty will certainly be there, and if MacMahon’s been asking after you, you may be  sure the King will stop to speak to you, especially since he’s received assurances that you’re fine, after all. Once he’s convinced you’re not dicked in the nob, nobody  else would dare  gainsay him.”

Lex smiled slowly. “I see you’re something of a tactician, sir.” 

“Sixty years of experience with the  ton,  Rutherford, that’s all,” Arundale replied, with an  answering, sly smile. 

“Can I persuade you to stay for lunch, sir?” Lex invited. “I’d like to draw further on those sixty years.” 

Arundale waved him off. “My digestion don’t stand for fancy food away from home, but you may keep Charles, if you’ve a mind to. He knows the way home on his own.” 

When Arundale had  gone, Pyatt turned to Lex with an awed expression. “My God! He  actually  likes  you! Have you any idea how frightening that is?” 

Lex shot him an amused look. “I rather got the impression he’s quite fond of you, too.” 

“Well, yes, sort of the way you’d like a puppy, as long as it doesn’t chew your slippers too much. Besides, he’s had a lot longer to get used to me. I can tell you frankly that he  despises  most of our generation, even those of us who really did go and fight Boney.” 

Lex shook his head,  entertained. “Well, I want you to get your chef, or your grandfather’s, rather, to tell mine what His Grace likes to eat. I’m determined he’ll accept an invitation from me sooner or later.” 

“Good luck to you.” 

“I might even invite my father at the same time,” Lex mused. “I’d love to see him squirm.” 

“If you do that, you had better make sure I’m out of the house,” Clark said quietly. “Right now, I’m seriously entertaining thoughts of grievous bodily harm against your father.” 

Concerned, Lex turned to him, and Charles instinctively moved away, to the window, to give them a semblance of privacy.  Lex put his hand on Clark’s arm. 

“Don’t, Clark. Those kind of thoughts will get you nowhere.”  


“I hate that he thinks he can treat you like this.”  


“I can live with the verbal venom better than with the idea that he might actually have  tried to have me poisoned,” Lex admitted, in a low tone. “Leave it be, Clark.” 

“Will he be at the Easter service?”

“Certainly.”  


“I had better not be, then.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I want you there.” 

“Lex, I don’t know if I know how to be civil to your father, right now!” 

“You’ve got nearly two weeks to work it out. I hope to have given you something else to think about by then.” 

He touched his lips to Clark’s  fleetingly, and then released him. 

Clark was still for a moment, touching fingertips to his tingling lips, then sighed, and left the room to talk to Simmons about lunch, but his gaze was sharp and calculating. 

Two weeks. Yes, he had two weeks to come up with a way to put the fear of God into Lionel Luthor, and ensure that he stayed out of their lives forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	11. In Which Easter Is Celebrated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark finds his own unique means of issuing a warning, and Lex makes his social reappearance.

His Grace, the Duke of Lanchester, was wrenched untimely from his sleep on the morning of Easter Sunday by the sound of his valet dropping the ewer of hot water. 

“Phelan! What the devil do you mean by it?” he roared, sitting up. 

The valet, however, was staring, not at Lanchester, but at the bed, appalled shock in his face, and Lanchester finally took a look at the normally familiar surroundings of his bedchamber. He was hard put to conceal his alarm at what he saw. 

Every drapery in the room had been slashed into neat strips, and through these strips, yards of red satin ribbon had been woven in a tidy pattern, criss-crossing the rich fabric like fine rivulets of blood. Not only had the velvet curtains and bed-hangings been treated that way, so, too, had the counterpane on the bed itself, under which he lay, yet when Lionel had gone to bed the night before, all of it had been intact, and he had neither left his bed, nor even woken at any time during the night. 

He mastered his own apprehension. 

“I want a search of the house. Account for all the staff, and I want to know if there’s a  single window open, a single latch broken, anywhere on the premises, and that includes the  roof and cellar,” he ordered, struggling to keep his voice steady. 

“Yes, my lord,” Phelan agreed feebly, and scuttled from the room. 

Lionel rose from his bed  –  on the dry side, away from where Phelan had dropped the full ewer  –  and inspected the counterpane. This was no random act of vandalism; it was precise and painstaking work. It had to have taken hours, and yet he had slept through it all. He had seen no one the previous night, London during Easter week being notoriously dull, and he knew none of his servants would have drugged him. Besides, he did not feel as if he had been drugged. He was as alert as ever, and usually drugs left their traces the morning after. He discarded any notion of supernatural agencies immediately as preposterous. He did not believe in any of that nonsense. Yet when Phelan returned, swearing up and down that the house was quite intact, with every door and window locked and bolted as it should have been, Lionel simply did not know what to think. 

He had no time to ruminate on the matter now. It was Easter Sunday, and he was  expected at St. George’s, Hanover Square. He dressed with his usual care, and took his car riage, to be there at twenty to eleven, which was early enough to be properly placed in the body of the church, but not so early as to appear gauche. The Square was packed, as always on  ceremonial days, full of gawkers come to see the Quality in their Sunday best. The church, however, was temperately pleasant, and Lionel stopped to exchange a few civil words here and there with acquaintances, as he made his way to the front pews where the highest peers of the realm were entitled to sit.

He was in conversation with the Devonshires, some ten minutes later, when a murmur rippled through the congregation. It was too early for the King; he never arrived one moment sooner than necessary, and frequently came late. Devonshire, who was still standing, craned his neck a little. 

“Ah, it’s Wellington,” he remarked. 

The Iron Duke still had his following, and since Liverpool’s death at the end of February,  he was now the leader of the government. Devonshire was still peering towards the doorway, however. 

“I say, Lanchester, is that your son with him?” 

Lionel absorbed the shock without any outward signs. He got to his feet unhurriedly and looked back down the nave. Devonshire was not mistaken. There was Lex, slim and fit, beautifully dressed, as always, bareheaded as was proper in church, doing nothing to conceal his loss of hair. On the contrary, his head was held high, with rare poise and elegance. Wellington had always liked him, and if Lionel was not mistaken, there was that old goat Arundale on his other side, not to mention the Kent boy, a step or two behind, his bright gaze watchful. 

“My, my, Lanchester, I’d heard Rutherford was  hideously  deformed.” Sally Jersey was looking at him with a brightly malicious gaze. “What  were  the gossips thinking? It’s an  unusual  look, certainly, but  deformed  is the  last  word I’d use. He was eye-catching before, now he’s  positively  mesmerising!” 

“I’m sure I never told you my son was deformed, Lady Jersey,” Lionel said evenly. She  was a fearful gossip and had the sharpest tongue in all of London. She never let anything slip,  and insofar as he could ever be afraid of a woman’s influence, he was a little wary of Lady  Jersey. 

“Did you not have some concerns about his mental state, though?” she asked slyly. “I  seem to recall hearing something along  those lines.” 

“I merely wondered what effect so many months of confinement and ill health might have had. Evidently, if there was anything, he’s over it.” 

“I quite agree,” she said sweetly, and went tripping off down the aisle,  remarkably sprightly, for her years, to greet the newcomers. 

Fortunately for Lionel’s peace of mind, the organist began to play, a signal for the  congregation to take its seats. The King duly arrived, just shortly after the hour, and the service began. Lionel found it tedious, as all church services usually were, and perhaps a little more so, since this was an extended service for Easter, and the minister was droning on about sins and redemption and all the usual tosh. It did, however, afford Lionel the time to still his tumultuous thoughts. He had had two or three weeks in which his own, subtly introduced rumours had worked deep into the fabric of Society. He had entertained high hopes, since Lex was still keeping closed doors. He had assumed that meant Lex was not physically fit enough for company. Kent, of course, automatically denied that Lex was in any way diminished, but only when  he was asked, since he had as yet no clearly defined place in Society, not without Lex’s pres ence to reinforce his position. 

However, just this last week, things had started to change a little. That interfering female Nell Potter had casually let drop that she and her niece had been invited to Rutherford House for tea and had found Lex in perfect health, and then there had been confirmation from some other, unknown source, but one of considerable influence, given the pervasiveness of the counter-rumours. Lionel momentarily wondered if it had been Wellington, but Wellington was not known for his subtlety. Arundale, however, was a different matter. Lionel had not thought Lex to be acquainted with Arundale, but one  of his grandsons was a good friend of Lex’s.  Furthermore, there was no love lost between Arundale and Lionel, and it would doubtless please the old devil to thwart Lionel any way he could. It certainly seemed, this morning, as if he and Lex were at least on comfortable speaking terms. 

When, just as the service was ending, he saw the King whispering to MacMahon, and indicating the second rank of peers, where the marquises sat, Lionel knew that any further attempts to have Lex proved incapable were doomed to failure, and he determined to make the best of it. As the congregation began to dissipate, Lionel saw his son approach, his expression quite unreadable. MacMahon waylaid him, but nodded after Lex said a word or two, and withdrew again. 

“Sir. May I offer you Easter greetings?” Lex said civilly, the very picture of filial duty as  he acknowledged his father. 

“The same to you, Alexander. I’m pleased to see you out and  about, I was beginning to  worry a little.” 

“As you see, sir, I am quite hale again. I have had the best of care.” 

“How  is my grandson?”  Lionel asked  impatiently. 

“My  children thrive and are a constant joy to me,”  Lex said pointedly. “Pray  forgive me  if I do not linger, but His Majesty has requested my attendance.” 

“Of course, Lex. I trust we’ll be seeing more of you in Society now.” 

“You may be sure of it. Good-day, sir.”

Lionel watched as he made his way to the King’s side, and was greeted with George’s  typical heavy-handed joviality. Something had changed in Lex; he had been through the fire, and had come out with a new edge, one that Lionel was not sure he appreciated much. Certainly, there had been no invitation to come and see his grandson forthcoming. He made his way to the front door, pensive. 

Outside, the early spring sunshine had given way to black rain-clouds, and Lionel considered the downpour a little ruefully. His groom, waiting outside the church with all the others, had spotted him immediately, and had run to call up his carriage, but there were still the steps of the church to negotiate, in the thunderous rain. 

“Your Grace? Might I offer the shelter of an umbrella for a few minutes, once your coach arrives?” a soft voice  said at his side. 

He turned and found himself looking up at Clark Kent. Instinct pushed him to refuse disdainfully; common sense told him the young man was being perfectly polite and respectful, and that nothing was worth getting drenched. Common sense gained the upper hand. 

“Thank you, Mr. Kent, I appreciate the gesture.” 

“You’re welcome, sir. Perhaps it’s country living, but I had the feeling the sunshine wouldn’t hold for long this morning, and took the necessary precautions.” 

Lionel made no reply, having no particular desire to converse with the young man, but looked for his coach. 

Beside him, Kent also peered through the rain, and then pointed, with the hand that still held his psalm-book. 

“I believe that is yours, sir. Only four more to go.” 

Lionel hardly heard him. His attention was fixed on the little book, for from its pages fluttered several short lengths of red satin ribbon; the exact same ribbon, he would have sworn, as that with which he had found his bedroom so disconcertingly decorated that morning. 

“W-what is that, Mr. Kent?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice even, and indicating  the red markers with what he hoped was appropriate condescension. 

Kent looked at his book with momentary blankness, and then laughed a little.  “Oh, that. Yes, I’m afraid my original bookmarks are long gone. We purchased a length of this red ribbon for one of Alexandra’s dolls a couple of days ago, and as she had no use for the rest, I cut up  strips for the psalm-book. I realise it looks a little ridiculous, but, well, better that than fum bling around in the middle of the service.”

“You might want to find something a little less –  tattered,  Mr. Kent,” Lionel said coolly. 

“I daresay you’re right, sir.” He gave Lionel an inquisitive look. “Is everything all right,  Your Grace? You seem a little discomposed. Did you have a peaceful night last night? London can be so turbulent at times, and one hears such extraordinary tales of robberies and the like,  even in the best of districts.” 

“I assure you I am quite all right. I slept like a charm.” 

“I’m glad to hear it. Of course, the country is not necessarily any more secure than the town is,” he added blithely. “Sometimes country estates are even more vulnerable, being so  isolated. Ah,  here is your coach. Allow me.” 

He opened the large umbrella, and escorted Lionel down the steps and into his carriage, apparently oblivious to the slightly wild-eyed stare with which he was being favoured. He closed the carriage door on Lionel with his sweetest smile, and then, without a backward glance, he ascended the steps once more, folding the umbrella, and waiting for Lex, who joined him soon thereafter.

 

&*&*&*&*&*&

 

“What were you talking to my father about?” Lex asked curiously, in the privacy of  Rutherford House.

“I let him know that he’s safe nowhere, if I so choose,” Clark said calmly. 

Lex gave him a shocked look. “For Heaven’s sake, what did you do?” 

“Nothing he can ever trace to me, don’t worry. I...  redecorated his bedchamber a little,  both here, and in Lanchester Court, last night.” 

“You –  While he was  in  it?”  


“Of course, while he was in it. That was half the point, Lex.” 

“Clark...!” 

“I promise you, what I did, no ordinary human could possibly do, and since he has no idea that I’m  not an ordinary human, you may be sure that he will never suspect me directly.  On the other hand, I did let him know that I’m behind it. All that tells him is that I obviously have a lot of very skilled, very clever people at my disposal, and that he’s  never  going to be safe  from me unless he keeps on my right side.”

“You are a lunatic!” Lex groaned.  


Clark leaned in and kissed him soundly. “Perhaps,  but  I’m  your  lunatic.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night at the opera, and a declaration of sorts.

As the chandeliers descended for the intermission, Clark was still applauding enthusiastically. Lex sat back in his chair and eyed his companion with jaundiced amusement. Abruptly becoming aware of the sardonic scrutiny, Clark turned towards Lex, almost bouncing in his seat, his face flushed with exuberance, eyes shining. The wry expression on Lex’s face put a stop to the bounce. 

“What?” he asked. “That was wonderful!” 

“That was possibly the most idiotic thing I have ever seen.” 

Clark was astonished. “But – it was Weber. You adore Weber.” 

“The music was excellent. The libretto was a complete farrago of nonsense. I can’t imagine what Planché was thinking.” 

“But, Lex, it was great! The pirates, and the storm at sea, and the magic garden and – just, everything!” 

Lex started to laugh. “How old are you, Kent? I think I should have taken you to Astley’s Amphitheatre instead.” 

“No, no, that’s the most fun I’ve ever had at the opera. What’s more, I understood all of it. At least it was in English.” 

“There is nothing wrong with your Italian,” Lex pointed out dryly. 

“Well – no, all right, there isn’t, but it’s not the same.”  


Lex made a disbelieving noise, and Clark grinned at him.  


“Don’t be such a grumbler.” 

“I am merely showing some discernment,” Lex defended. 

“You’re being a grumbler. Oh, and we are going to go to Astley’s Amphitheatre just as soon as your daughter’s old enough to sit reasonably still for a couple of hours.” 

“Lord preserve me,” Lex groaned. “Are you going to insist on sitting through the divertissement as well?”

“What, you mean now?” 

“Yes.” 

“No, I won’t insist. It couldn’t possibly be better than _Oberon_ , and I don’t want to spoil the effect.” 

“Thank God for small mercies,” Lex muttered. 

“Grumbler,” Clark grinned again, as they stood. “What’s up with you? You were looking forward to this earlier tonight. Apart from _Semiramide_ , it’s the first opera you’ve been to all Season.” 

“That was before I realised how asinine the libretto was.” 

“Still, normally nothing can distract you from the opera. What was different tonight?” 

“I didn’t have something better waiting for me.” 

The smile disappeared from Clark’s face. “Something better? What?” 

Lex faced him, reached out to grip his lapel, and pulled him inexorably in to plant a soul-searing kiss on him, in full view of half of the Polite World. 

“That,” he said, a little huskily, when he let Clark go. Clark was wide-eyed and speechless.  


Lex tossed him his cloak. “Let’s go home.” 

FINE 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is, my stab at a Regency Romance. I've had one or two formatting issues with the text, I hope it doesn't bother anyone too much.

**Author's Note:**

> ￼Disclaimer: Many of the characters used in this work of fan-fiction are the creation and property of DC Comics, Time/Warner and all relevant subsidiaries. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no income of any nature is being derived from its publication


End file.
